


What Is and What Should Never Be

by PrairieChzHead (msannomalley)



Series: Lost Causes [3]
Category: The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msannomalley/pseuds/PrairieChzHead
Summary: The events of Burning the Midnight Lamp Alone from Michelle's point of view, as well as some of her backstory.





	1. Chapter 1

July 8, 1973  
Harrisburg, NE

 

I don't remember how I got back here, nor do I remember going to Los Angeles to pack a suitcase and get my car. The last thing I remember with any clarity is sitting on a toilet in the bathroom of a hotel suite in Portland, Oregon, holding a straight razor up to my wrist, while every bad thing that ever happened to me and every bad thing I ever did to someone else flashed before me. My life wasn't worth living anymore and I was trying to take care of it. Obviously, it didn't work; otherwise, I wouldn't be back at my childhood home.

I don't know what it was that brought me here. I wasn't looking forward to being here and having to deal with my asshole brother.

My asshole brother is named Dick. He's fifteen years older than me, he hates me and he always has. I don't know what it was I did in the beginning to make him hate me so much. But ever since my folks died, he's let it be known that I was nothing but a nuisance and a thorn in his side. My folks died when I was eight years old. Dick is fifteen years older than me. He was then the age I am now, twenty-three. And because nobody else wanted me around, he had the responsibility of raising me. They should have put me in a foster home.

My name is Michelle Lynn O'Brien. That's my real name. A lot of other people know me by the name Arizona. I have this other name because my hobby is balling rock stars.

There has to be a good reason why I ended back up in pissant little Harrisburg, Nebraska. I hate this place. What that reason is, I don't know yet.

I've drifted back to this place occasionally during the five years I've been gone. After my high school graduation, I left this place. I come back to let my sister-in-law, the only person who acts like she actually gives a damn, know I'm still alive. When I come back, I usually crash in the empty cabin that's out of sight of the main house. When my father was still alive, he always had someone who worked for him living in that cabin. Since I was fifteen, that cabin has stood empty, except for the times I came back to the ranch. When I pulled my car up to that building, I noticed that it was occupied. The ancient green pick-up truck that belongs to the ranch was parked in front of it.

So much for a place to crash. It's summer. I suppose I could crash at the boathouse down by the lake.

I didn't want anyone else to know that I was back. I wasn't ready or willing to deal with my brother. I planned on staying out of sight of everyone else until I figured out why I ended up back here in the first place. I went down to the lake. On the far corner of the ranch is a lake, nestled among some trees. It's been there forever. My father told me once that his grandfather had the lake put in. I stayed down there and drank vodka and got high because there was nothing else to do and I was having dark thoughts again. When I realized that the sun was sinking into the horizon, I headed back up towards the main house. Maybe I'll sleep in the car tonight.

By the time I got back up to where everyone lives, my curiosity got the better of me. I was dying to know who was living in my cabin. It was dusk. I approached the cabin and I saw the lights from the inside spilling outside and casting fainter versions of themselves on the ground.

And then I saw him.

He was the guy, I assumed, who lived in the cabin now. He sat on the steps, shirtless because it was a hot night, and he took a drink from the bottle of Jack Daniels he was holding. I stood in the shadows and watched this dark haired guy sitting on my steps. I thought to myself that my brother must have acquired some taste when he hired this one. This guy was pretty hot looking. Usually, they're not.

He had dark hair. I always go for the dark haired ones. I wondered if maybe, provided that I stepped out of the shadows and introduced myself, he might be open to letting me spend the night.

I watched him for a few minutes more. I watched him take a drink, then stare ahead like he was staring at something that wasn't there. Then I called out, "Do you always make it habit to drink alone?"

"So what if I do?" the man answered shortly.

"So what if you do," I replied, almost in a mocking way. "We all have our vices. I get stoned alone." I stepped forward, out of the shadows and into the light so he could see me. Now that I was closer to him, I could get a better look at him. He wasn't bad looking. Not at all. He was certainly built a lot better than most of the guys I'm used to hanging around with. It looked like he got that way from doing actual work. He had dark eyes that went along with the dark hair, too.

Maybe this week would be more interesting than I originally thought.

"So you're the new hand," I said, putting on my critical face and hoping I didn't sound too eager. Being too eager always brings me grief. "Are you Irish or are you a vet?" I asked. "'Cause Dickie don't hire none of them long-haired freaky people unless their Irish or they've been in the Army."

"Both," the man shrugged.

"Lucky you," I replied sarcastically. "Dickie must love you to death." I brought the bottle of vodka up to my mouth and took a drink. I felt some of it dribble down my chin. Great impression I'm making. I wiped it away. "So what brings you to Bum Fuck Nowhere?" I asked the man.

He only shrugged. "Had to get away," he replied.

"Ah," I replied knowingly. "People like you make me realize that I was right to protest the war. I have yet to meet a vet that has come back unscathed." I looked down at the ground. "But try telling that to someone like Dickie," I added, as almost an afterthought.

"What do you have against Dick?" the man asked me.

I looked at him narrowly. "You want the long list or the short one," I retorted.  _Don't go there, Michelle,_ the inner voice warned me. I shook my head. The man was waiting for me to continue. "Nevermind," I mumbled right before I took another drink. After the liquid went down my throat, I spoke again in a louder, stronger voice. I squared my shoulders. "You're probably sitting there and saying to yourself 'Who in the hell is this person?' You've probably never heard of me. I'm Dickie's younger sister. The one the family never talks about."

"Why don't they talk about you?" he asked me.

"Because I'm the outcast," I replied. "The black sheep. I don't live here by the way. I just visit. I come back here to remind myself why the fuck I left in the first place."

The new hand had no outward reaction to what I said. Didn't this guy even feel anything?

"Wanna know what it is I do?" I asked. I bet this will get a reaction. I didn't wait for him to answer. "My name is Michelle O'Brien," I said. "I'm twenty-three and I dropped out of college. I'm Dickie's drug addled, hippie sister, even though I never lived on a commune or meditated or been to a love-in in my life. I fuck rock stars. I hang out at places like the Hyatt House or the Rainbow Room or the Whisky-a-Go-Go. My groupie name is Arizona O'Brien. Sometimes I get to go along with the band when they tour. Other times I wander around. I'm nothing but a nuisance to Dickie and have been since the age of eight." I looked at the man steadily, waiting for his reaction. He didn't give me the one I was expecting.

"I used to be in a gang," he replied. "I mugged people and stole things to survive because I lived on the streets. I was an orphan until I got sent to live with my uncle."

No wonder why he wasn't shocked by what I said. He was in a gang. He used to commit crimes.

He was an orphan. Just like me.

"You're an orphan, too," I said softly. "My folks died when I was eight. Killed in a car crash."

There was a period of silence, one of those awkward silences that seem to happen when you don't know what else to say. I decided to sit down. The only place to sit was on the steps right next to this guy. So I did. At least he didn't move away from me when I sat down.

Because my brain is slow grasp things when I'm soused, I just now realized that he never told me his name.

"What's your name?" I asked. "Where are you from?" I knew he wasn't from around here. He had sort of a New York or New Jersey type accent. It wasn't heavy, but I knew that he had to be from somewhere around there.

"Dan," he replied. "New York. I lived in the city and then I went out to Westchester County."

I wrinkled my nose. "New York is pretty happening, but Westchester is full of a lot of boring, rich people. Been to New York a few times."

Dan said nothing again. I'm getting the impression that he's either shy or he wants me to get lost. The silence was getting to me and I was getting anxious. I fished into the pocket of my shorts and produced a joint. I lit it and inhaled deeply. Dan watched me while I did this.

"You want some?" I asked, holding out the joint. I'll share a joint with just about anyone.

"No thanks," he replied. He looked at the joint, then at my face, then back at the joint again, as if he were contemplating changing his mind. He shook his head slightly.

"Where do you wander?" he asked me.

"Wherever I feel like," I replied. Dan didn't ask for details.

Another one of those awkward silences hung in the air. This time, I broke it because my conscience decided to remind me that I still needed a place to sleep tonight. If I couldn't sleep with him, there was always the couch.

"I usually crash here," I said, indicating the cabin. "Don't have to deal with the family. This place has been empty for the longest time. Dickie's hands have their own places." Then I laughed bitterly, remembering the family. "You know," I said. "My niece and nephew are scared to death of me. Dickie's been filling their heads with stories."

Dan glanced at me after that last remark. I saw something in his eyes. It was a reflection of pain, the same kind of pain I was feeling. He hadn't said much all evening, but it was what he didn't say, the underlying message in his few spoken words, that spoke volumes to me. He was a vet. He left New York because he had to get away. I knew what that was like. Leaving your home because you have to get away, that is. I've met Vietnam Veterans before. Dan seemed to have that same thousand yard stare the other ones I met had.

Dan drank from the bottle of Jack Daniels while I smoked the rest of my joint. We didn't say anything. After a while, I realized that he was looking at me. I glanced at him again and he seemed fascinated by the joint I held between my thumb and forefinger.

"Sure you don't want some?" I asked. Dan only shook his head.

"Suit yourself," I replied. I wasn't one of those who would pressure someone to toke with me if they didn't want to. If he didn't want to, he didn't want to. I was cool with that.

I finished the rest of the joint and stubbed it out. My mind went back to something Dan said earlier about wanting to get away. I wondered what exactly he wanted to get away from. I had to get away from this place because I hated it so much and I was miserable here. I had to go somewhere else because I was convinced that things would be better if I left here. Things were still miserable for me and it had nothing to do with the locale. I wanted to ask Dan why he had to get away, but I found I lacked the courage to do so.

"Ever wish you could fall off the face of the Earth?" I asked instead.

"Every damned day," Dan replied. He took a drink from his bottle and when he finished, he offered it to me. I took it and had a drink of my own. I wasn't feeling anxious anymore. The joint took care of that. I was feeling depressed again.

When I handed the bottle back to Dan, rather clumsily in my wasted state, my breast brushed against his arm and he had a reaction to that. It was almost like I touched him with a hot fireplace poker or a branding iron or something like that. I noticed he had a look in his eye. Not the look of, "Hey, let's fuck". It was more like he suddenly remembered what it was like to have a woman around and to have a woman touch you, even if it was accidental.

It had been a long time since he'd gotten laid. It was fairly obvious to me anyway. And because I was drunk and stoned, and I thought he was hot, Arizona decided to take charge.

Lately it seems I have these three different parts of my personality that have taken over my conscience. The first one and the most dominant is Arizona, the hard, unfeeling party girl who likes to yank people's chains and toy with them and doesn't like to get too attached to anyone. Arizona says and does things and doesn't regret any of it, no matter who she hurts in the process.

Then there's little Shelly. She's the needy little girl who wants people to love her and what everyone thinks of her matters more than anything else. She's looking for approval, but never gets it.

And then there's Michelle. For most of the past five years or so, Michelle was mute while I was out doing my thing. Michelle, though, started speaking up lately. She's been the part of my conscience that's been telling me that I have to stop living my life the way I've been living it and that I won't really be happy unless I do so.

It's not like I turn into three different people like Sybil. I've just nicknamed those different parts of my conscience, my personality, whatever it's called. Arizona is what I've become because of the partying and the drinking and the drugs and the sex. Shelly is what I used to be before I earned my reputation in high school. Michelle is the sane part of my conscience.

But Michelle beat Arizona back for a minute. "Me, too," I replied. I looked at Dan. "Every damn day." I heard myself speak with conviction. That was one of the few things in my life I was certain about. I tried to fall off the face of the Earth three weeks ago.

I couldn't forget the look in Dan's eye when the "accidental" touching happened.

 _Go ahead,_ the Arizona part of my conscience told me.  _It's been a bit since you've had a good fuck._

 _It's only been a week,_ the Michelle part of my conscience replied.  _It's pretty pathetic to want to hop into bed with this guy when you've only met him a few hours ago._

 _Hasn't stopped her before,_ the Arizona part retorted.

 _And look where that's gotten her,_ the Michelle part replied.

I want to feel alive again. I'm sick of feeling so dead inside. I don't know how else to feel alive other than to get laid or get high. I was already high and that wasn't cutting it. Arizona, the Devil that sat on my one shoulder, won this round.

"Been awhile for you, hasn't it?" I said to Dan as I touched his arm. Dan looked at me. It looked like he was interested or at least he was getting interested.

"I know you want it," I whispered. "I can tell."

Dan said nothing. I began to stroke his bicep slowly, drawing my fingers back and forth across the taut muscle and his tanned flesh. "I know you want to put your hands on me and fuck me senseless," I continued. Then I added, to let him know that it was okay, that I wanted him to put his hands on me and fuck me senseless, "Go ahead."

That must have done it for him. He grabbed my hand, pulled me up to my feet and led me into the cabin.

Once we were inside, Dan backed me up against the wall and the first thing he did was to attack my neck with his mouth, while his hands slid inside my halter top to knead my breasts. He wasn't gentle, either. I didn't mind. I didn't mind one bit that he wanted to skip the slow stuff and cut to the chase. It sure as hell beat being tied up or blindfolded.

I felt a surge go through me, one I hadn't felt since the first time I slept with Stuart, that guitar player I met the summer I was eighteen. I felt all these little jolts of energy, of electricity, of feeling. "Oh God, yes," I breathed as my fingers dug into Dan's back. I hooked my left leg over Dan's hip, to bring me closer to him, to relieve this ache that was building up inside me, an ache I hadn't felt in quite some time.

Dan got rid of my top and threw it aside. Then he homed in on my bare breasts, taking one into his mouth, sucking hard and even biting a bit. I moaned and my fingers became tangled in his dark hair and I arched my back. Dan did the same to the other one, and just as roughly, too. The fingers that were still touching his back dug even deeper into his flesh.

Dan didn't wait very long to take off my shorts. He had this strange look when he noticed that I wasn't wearing underwear. As he was trying to take off his jeans and his boots, I slipped out of my sandals. When Dan finished, our eyes met briefly, before he backed me up against the wall again and lifted me up to a height that suited him. I wrapped my legs around him tightly. His hands were on my hips as he used the wall to balance me.

I felt him thrust into me hard and I groaned and wrapped my legs around him tighter in response. He didn't start out slow; again, he cut to the chase, thrusting in and out of me so hard and so fast. I moaned and whimpered and I cried out. God damn, this was good. It had been quite some time since I had a good, old fashioned, down and dirty, sweaty fuck with the lights on. I felt the Moment of Truth, the Point of No Return, my impending orgasm quickly approaching and when it hit, it hit me with the full force of a high speed train hitting a brick wall. I screamed my head off, not caring in the least whether or not they could hear me all the way up at the main house. If they didn't know I was back, they would now.

I was still caught up in all that when Dan had his. I could feel him inside me pulsing as he shot into me. For a few moments, he didn't move. He was leaning against me, and panting. I was panting, too. Soon, he pulled out of me and set me back down on the floor. Then he grabbed the Jack Daniels bottle and headed towards the bedroom. I followed him, switching the light off before I exited the main room and entered the bedroom. Dan climbed into bed and I climbed in next to him. He didn't object or kick me out.

We lay side by side in the dark, not touching. There was a part of me, deep down inside, that was hoping for at least a cuddle. I didn't get it, though.

"Been awhile for you, hasn't it?" I asked him in the darkness.

Dan said nothing. Great. He's probably embarrassed or something like that. Good one, Michelle. Bring up the man's lack of sex. That's real smooth.

"It's okay," I said, hoping that he didn't think I sounded too crass. "It was good."

Dan only shrugged. I was beginning to wonder if that was his preferred form of communication. Or maybe he was still embarrassed and he was brushing me off or he thought I was only saying that it was good because that's what he wanted to hear.

"It was," I insisted. "I wasn't faking it."

I felt him shift in the bed. Even though there was faint moonlight, I could tell he was looking at me. I turned my head to look at him.

"You fake it?" he asked, interested for some reason. Maybe he didn't know that women can and do fake it. I know I've faked it more than my fair share of times.

"Uh-huh," I replied. "You got some of those rock stars who think they're big studs, but they're not. So you have to fake it to let them live under the delusion that they're the world's greatest lover." I rolled over onto my side. "Some of them are so into doing freaky shit, they forget what a nasty, dirty, sweaty fuck is like."

Dan looked kind of interested in that last remark, and I realized I had said too much. I really didn't want to get into the details of anything I ever did. A lot of it was stuff I wished I'd never taken part it. Not out of a sense of moral outrage, but more because I was willing to do whatever they wanted to make them happy, even if I wasn't too sure about doing it myself.

Thankfully, he didn't ask for details. Instead he said, "So tell me, why did you come by tonight?"

I shrugged. "I didn't feel like being alone," I replied. "I don't think you do, either, otherwise you would have told me to leave." It was true. I was tired of being alone, yet I'm still convinced that love doesn't exist. If it had, I would have found it by now.

Thinking about that brought on the melancholy again. I reached across Dan for the bottle of JD.

* * *

 

The next thing I remembered was feeling the top sheet being jerked around. Since it was hot out, there was no need for anything but the top sheet as a cover.  I thought I heard someone yelling, so I put the pillow over my head to try and drown out the sound. It didn't work. I put the pillow back under my head and that's when I saw that the person shouting and thrashing around was Dan. He was caught up in the throes of what appeared to be a wicked nightmare.

"NO," I heard him say. The word came out as a scream. And it scared the living shit out of me. I've never heard a grown man scream before, and I don't ever want to hear it again. I felt paralyzed momentarily.

 _Do something,_  I heard my conscience say.

"Dan," I said, shaking his arm gently. The paralysis I had was forgotten. I had to do something. The sight of him like that was tearing me up inside for some reason. I couldn’t stand to see him like this at all. I couldn't stand to see him caught up in something so painful.

"Dan," I said again. "Wake up!" I shook his arm again. That must have done the trick. He bolted upright. Dan looked around in the darkness, confused. He was drenched in sweat. His eyes met mine and he looked even more confused.

I sat up, too. I didn't bother to cover myself. I didn't even think about it because it wasn't important right now. "Shhh," I said to him. "It's okay. You were having a nightmare."

Dan shook his head, as if he were clearing it. He still looked confused, but he looked as if he were in pain, too. Something about that look called out to me. It called out to me and I knew I had to do something or I had to at least try to do something. I couldn't stand to see him like this at all. It tore me up inside.

I reached over to him, gathering him to me and I held him. "It's okay," I whispered. "You're not there anymore." I only assumed he was having nightmares about Vietnam. That seemed to go along with serving over there, too.

I kissed the top of his head and I held onto him and whispered to him until he seemed to calm down. "You want to tell me about it?" I asked him when he seemed calm enough.

"It's the same dream I have every night," he said. "It's the one where I get to watch one of my buddies get maimed and I can't help him or stop it from happening."

Dear God. I couldn't imagine being in that place, in the position of watching a friend get wounded and of feeling so helpless. I wanted to tell Dan that it wasn't his fault that his friend got hurt and that there was nothing he could have done to stop it and that he shouldn't be beating himself up over it, but I didn't.

I bet LBJ or McNamara or Westmoreland or any of those guys slept well at night. I bet they didn't have nightmares about sending kids off to some far off place to kill people and watch their friends die or get wounded. I bet Nixon sleeps fine at night, too. God damn them. God damn them all to hell. God damn everyone who supports that fucking war.

This is the reason why I am against the war. This man trembling in my arms who can't sleep at night because he had to go through something as horrific as what he did and comes home only a shell of what he used to be. Dan and Bruce, the guy I met at Woodstock who couldn't get through his day without getting high because it was better than facing reality, or Steven, the guy who was so angry, he took out his anger by protesting. And Ronny, my friend from high school, who managed to escape this backwards little town when he got drafted, only to return home in a box. They're all the reason why I'm against that fucking war.

I said none of this aloud. What good would it do? Instead I whispered, "It's okay." I kissed Dan on the cheek. "It's going to be okay." I didn't know what else to say to him. What could I say?

Dan stared at me. It was like he wanted to believe me when I said it was going to be okay, but he couldn't do it.

Gently, I lay back down, taking Dan with me and not letting go of him. I couldn't let go of him. "You think you can go back to sleep?" I asked.

"I guess," he said.

"Okay, then," I whispered. I brought my face closer to him to kiss him on the cheek again, but something stopped me. It was my conscience telling me that now wasn't the time. It's nice to know that your conscience also assumes the worst of you. I wasn't about to take advantage of Dan's current state to get laid again. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. I just wanted to let him to know that it was going to be okay, even if he didn't believe it.

Dan was staring at me again. I don't know if that was good or bad. My eyes met his and I held his gaze. Then he sought out my mouth and he started kissing me. His kisses were soft, but yet very deep, as if he were trying to reach down into my soul.

Nobody has ever kissed me like this before. Ever. Not one man before has ever kissed me as if they were trying to reach into my soul. Not even Stuart and that was the closest I'd ever gotten to this. Lately, most of them don't even bother after the token initial kiss to get into the mood.

I kissed Dan back. I had to kiss him back and I had to do it in the same way in which he was kissing me. I had to. There was no other choice in the matter. I felt his hands caressing me slowly, as if trying to take me all in. And it seemed like he was trying to savor me, judging by the way he was touching me.

I knew what this was about. I knew very well what this was about. This was happening for the same reason I do this. Dan needs to feel alive again.

I let him make all the moves. That's what he needed right now. He needed to feel alive and that he had some sense of control over things. Not necessarily over me, but it's that feeling you get when everything around you is out of control and you need to find something or some way to have at least a little control over things. It's what keeps you sane when everything around you is insane.

What he was doing felt so good. It felt wonderful. It felt like I was being appreciated and not used and that he appreciated me. I needed to feel appreciated and wanted. I continued to let him take the lead, but I reciprocated because I had to let him know that what he was doing was good. Not in a purely physical sense, but emotionally, too.

It dawned on me that this is what making love is really like. It's not about the end result. Well, the end result is always important, but making love is about the things in between and it's about you and the person you're with and nothing else. This time there was a passion that was lacking when he had me backed up against that wall. There was a passion that came out of this need both of us had right now. He needed me. I needed him, too. He wanted me. He didn't tell me to leave. He acted like I existed.

When we climaxed, it felt as if all the pain and the sadness were being washed away from me. I felt this sense of security and this sense of closeness to him. I've never felt so close to anyone as I did now. I never allowed myself to feel close to anyone because it was just better that way. But tonight, Dan never gave me the chance to not feel anything afterwards.

Dan lay on top of me for the longest time. He kissed me again, slowly before he finally pulled out and rolled over. He pulled me close to him and he put his arms around me and he held me. It felt so good and so right. We fell asleep like that, in each others' arms.

A few hours later, as dawn was creeping over the horizon and filling the cabin with its rosy light, I woke up.

 _Now look what you've done,_ the Arizona part of my conscience, the little devil that sat on my shoulder said.  _What did I tell you about getting too close to anyone? Now you've gone and done it._

 _She's right,_ the Michelle part of my conscience, the little angel that sat on my other shoulder, agreed.  _You shouldn't have done that, Michelle. You have no business getting into a relationship right now. You're only going to end up hurting him._

 _Nah,_ Arizona the Devil replied.  _He'll hurt her first. Just like the other ones she's gotten close to. That's why you don't get too close to them. Then they can't hurt you._

I guess they had a point. But how was I supposed to ignore him last night? Was I supposed to sit there and do nothing while Dan was screaming and caught up in that nightmare? Was I supposed to ignore his hurt? Was I supposed to just let him suffer alone? I couldn't do that. I couldn’t just ignore him and leave him alone. I couldn't do that. I know what it's like to suffer alone.

How am I supposed to find answers to everything I need to know when my conscience doesn't seem to know what I should do?

I suppose the one part of my conscience was right. I really don't have any business getting into a relationship right now, not when I'm still messed up. But who said that I was even looking for a relationship right now?

Hell, I don't know anymore.

I know from my years living here that whoever works for my brother starts pretty early in the morning. The clock said it was five in the morning. I'm sure that Dickie will be around looking for Dan pretty soon. I thought I'd better split before Dickie catches me in here. The last thing I want to do is get Dan in trouble. I can see it now. I can see Dickie pulling Dan aside to give him a lecture on the evils of getting involved with me.

Carefully, as not to wake Dan, I extracted myself from his arms. I hated to leave the shelter of his arms around me. I really hated to do that. If I could stay where I was and the way I was for the rest of my life, it would suit me just fine.

I went into the other room to get my clothes. I got dressed and was about to head out the door, when something prompted me to stop and do something else first. I found a scrap of paper and scribbled a note to Dan on it. I started to write something else, to confess everything, but I crossed it out. That was just too much information and I doubt he'd believe me anyway. He'd probably think I was just saying that to make him feel better. I stole back into the bedroom and put the note on the table next to the bed. Quietly, I left the cabin.

I was hungry and I needed a shower. In leaving the cabin, I just forfeited food and that shower. I cursed myself for my stupidity. I looked around. It was unusually quiet on the ranch for this early in the morning. Surely I'd at least have seen Pencil Dick Pete Anderson and have to listen to his snide remarks. I didn't see him or hear him.

I was beginning to wonder if anyone was even home.

If that were the case, I knew where the spare key was kept. It was hidden under a mat on the back porch. If nobody was around, I'd get my breakfast and my shower.

First, I stopped at my car to grab a change of clothes. Then I headed up to the main house. Someone was there. It was warm out for this early in the morning and I could hear the faint crackling of hot grease in a frying pan as the sounds drifted through the screen door. That meant Mary was up. And if Mary was up and making breakfast, that meant Dick was probably in there, too.

I could go in the house and face the both of them or I could go down to the lake, scrounge up the bar of soap that was undoubtedly in the boathouse, and bathe that way. It worked for me at Woodstock.

For some reason, and I don't know why, I decided on taking my chances in the house. I could sneak upstairs and use the shower. I opened the screen door and I winced when it made a squeak. It still squeaked and nobody bothered to fix it. So much for sneaking in.

I slipped into the kitchen hoping Mary wouldn’t notice, but she did.

"Michelle!" she exclaimed. "What a surprise!" She put down the spatula she was holding and came over to hug me. I stiffened up when she did that.

I looked around briefly. There was no sign of my brother at all. At least I was spared from having to deal with him.

"When did you get in?" Mary asked.

"Last night," I replied.  _I met the new hand, by the way._

"And you didn’t come up to the house?" Mary said. She looked me over and I saw her frown.

"What?" I asked.

"Are you all right?" Mary asked.

"I'm fine," I lied.  _I'm not all right. I never was all right and I'll never be all right._ "Where's Dick?"

Mary waved her hand. "He's with Pete, Norman, and Ben in Kansas City for a cattle show." She looked at me again. "Are you sure you're okay, Michelle?"

"I'm fine," I lied again. I glanced at Mary and she was giving me this look that said she knew better. I almost blurted everything out right then and there. "I just need a shower and some food."

"If you say so," Mary replied.

I took my shower and while I let the hot water run over me, my mind tried to sort out the jumbled thoughts it held. Most of them were about Dan.

Something happened last night. I felt something I hadn't felt before. During those moments when Dan was making love to me, I felt like I was wanted and appreciated and I at least mattered to someone. And it felt real, too. It didn't feel like he did this because he wanted something from me to satisfy his own ego. In the past, nobody has ever looked at me the way Dan looked at me last night when they wanted something from me.

This is what I've been wanting from life all along. I've been staggering through life, searching for someone, be it friend or lover, who made me feel like I was important and that I mattered. This is what I've been looking for.

But another part of me issued a warning.  _Don't jump the gun here because of one night. You don't even know this guy._

When I finished my shower and I went down to get something to eat, the thoughts continued. This time, the Angel and the Devil sides of my conscience were arguing about what happened last night. They both agreed that I was an idiot for not shutting off my feelings.

The war of words within my conscience continued throughout the day. I wandered around the place for a bit. A part of me was hoping that I'd run into Dan. I wanted to see him again, even though the voices of reason and unreason were warning me to stay away from him. I hope he wasn't mad about me leaving.

Late in the afternoon, the war of words got to be too much, so I went into my car, grabbed a bottle of bourbon I had, and I headed down to the lake to drown them out. Maybe I could make them shut up.

I sat on the dock, letting my feet dangle into the water, and I drank. I wondered if maybe I shouldn't move to sit near the muddy part of the lake, where the leeches live. I bet the leeches would feel really good after sucking on my blood.

As it always happens when I drink heavily, I lost track of the time. I drank and I smoked cigarettes and I became fascinated with the gnats that were flying around in a beam of sunlight. I had no idea what time it was when I found out I had company. It was Dan.

He tapped me on the shoulder. "I got your note," he said.

"I didn't want you to be offended," I said, my words very slurred. I consumed half of what was in the bottle at this point. "You know, 'cause I left before you woke up. I hate it when guys do that to me."

Dan said nothing. I moved my feet in the water slowly, and the soft, churning sound fascinated me, so I continued to do that. For the longest time, that and the sounds of the leaves rustling in the breeze and the birds calling out to each other were the only things that could be heard.

Dan finally broke the silence. "Last time was the first time for what?" he asked me.

Great. Just the question I didn't want him to ask. I wasn't supposed to get close to him and now he wants to know my deepest secrets. "It's not important," I said, waving my hand as if to sweep the topic away. I really didn't want to get into this. I felt tears springing into my eyes, so I tried to cover them by taking another drink and turning my head away so Dan couldn't see them.

One of the certain things in my life is that I absolutely suck at hiding my feelings when I'm drunk. No matter how hard I try, I can't do it. I can't do it because the liquor won't let me do it. And this time, it was no different.

"It's important to you," Dan said.

Those were the magic words. They were the magic words because someone was acknowledging that something I felt was important to me instead of dismissing it as a bunch of crap or telling me that it's all in my head. I mattered. What I felt mattered. Someone actually gives a damn about me and what I feel.

I turned my head to look at him. I think the tears caught him by surprise. "Hey," he said softly.

I took another drink from the bourbon bottle. Then I took a deep breath. "Last night was the first time that a man ever really kissed me. It was the first time that a man ever really made love to me."

I saw the look of astonishment on Dan's face. I know what he's thinking. Having sex and making love are two different things and I am convinced of this. I know guys probably don't believe it, but it's true. Having sex is a physical thing while making love is an emotional thing.

"It's true," I told him. "It's always about them and what they want. Nobody ever cares about me or what I might want or that I have feelings or anything like that." I glanced at him and the astonished look was still there. "They use me," I said. "They use me and I let them. It's the closest thing to love I'll ever know. Then I come back here and Dickie takes every opportunity to tell me how much of a whore I am."

That metaphorical dam, the one that I built to keep all my feelings contained, burst at that moment. I buried my face in my hands and I sobbed hard. I was too drunk to stop myself and once a dam breaks you can't stop the torrent. I kept crying, all those feelings I worked so hard to bury over the last fifteen years were rushing out and I was being swept away in it. Dan put his arm around my shoulders and then I buried my face into his neck and I cried there. I cried until I had no tears left to shed.

Dan stood up and then he helped me to my feet. I almost lost my balance and fell off the dock, but Dan helped me. Then he helped me over to the green truck and he drove me back to the cabin.

* * *

 

The next thing I remember is waking up in Dan's bed fully dressed. My head hurt so bad, I couldn’t sit up. I couldn't quite remember how I got here, either.

I got the feeling that I fucked something up big time and maybe he didn't want anything to do with me now. I don't know what I did, because I don't remember much of what happened last night. Whatever it was I did, I was going to have to find Dan and apologize to him for it. My head and my stomach had other ideas, though. I barely managed to crawl out of bed to the bathroom to throw up.

I can't remember the last time I ever got so drunk I got sick the next day. I definitely can hold my liquor. I must have drunk a lot yesterday.

Sometime in the afternoon, I felt human enough to drag my ass out of bed and to the couch. I spent the rest of the day lying there, staring at the ceiling.

It was around six or so when Dan came back. "Hey," he said as he walked in the door. I felt better when he came through the door. I sat up so I could see him.

"How was your day, dear?" I cracked. He smiled at me. It was a small smile, almost like he wanted to smile, but he had to force himself to do it because the demons he has won't let him smile at anything.

"Fine," he replied. "But you don't look so good."

"I feel like shit," I replied. Then I asked him something else I had been wondering about yesterday. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"You were already pretty wasted by the time I got there," Dan replied.

I sighed. "I suppose," I said. Then I remembered something else I wanted to say. I was going to apologize for something I don't remember doing. "Listen," I said, swallowing nervously. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dan replied, obviously confused.

"For whatever it was I did," I said.

"You didn't do anything, Michelle," he replied. "I went down to the lake after I was done working and I found you there. You were drunk, you cried on my shoulder, I brought you back here, and you passed out. That's it."

"Oh," I said softly. "I thought I did something wrong. I woke up in my clothes."

Dan came over and sat down next to me. "What does waking up in your clothes have anything to do with anything?"

"I don't know," I replied. It sounded stupid to me now. I was worried he didn't want me now because deep down, I was secretly hoping for a repeat of the night before. How could that happen when I was passed out? "Forget it," I said.

"Suit yourself," Dan replied. He got up again in search of food. All he found was a bag of potato chips. "Want some?" he asked, holding the bag out to me. I lay back down on the couch. Good thing, because my stomach was starting to turn slightly.

"No thanks," I replied. "I'll throw up again."

Dan ate the potato chips and I stared at the ceiling. No words were spoken and the silence was deafening. After Dan finished off the bag, he got up to throw it away.

I had to break the silence. It was getting on my nerves.

"So what's your story?" I asked him. "I told you mine."

Dan thought on that for a bit. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "Not much to tell," he said. "I was born in New York City. My father was a cop and he died when I was eight years old. My mother died from cancer when I was fourteen. I was in a street gang until I got arrested and sent to live with an uncle I never knew about until then."

"In Westchester?" I asked.

"Yeah, in Westchester. He was the groom for some rich family that lived there." Dan paused, before he continued. "I didn't exactly live with my uncle. He didn't want me corrupting the boss's kids and their friends. I lived in the woods with the gamekeeper. I worked a lot, and went to school and got off probation. I turned my life around."

I told Dan about my parents, Dick raising me, Mary, and all the trouble I got in during high school. I, too, chose my words carefully. I purposely left out the Brunner Years.

I glanced over at Dan. I certainly had his attention now.  _You're saying way too much,_ my conscience told me. I ignored it. I ignored it because it felt so good to be able to say this, to tell my story for once and not be dismissed.

I brought my legs up and tucked them under me. "I went to college, but that lasted about two months. College wasn't for me. Dickie shelled out the money for it just to get me out of his hair. And things were happening and I was missing out when I was stuck in Omaha. So I quit and went to California for awhile. I protested the war because everyone else was. I got high, got laid, and it was groovy. Hell, I even went to Woodstock.”

“You didn’t take the brown acid,” Dan said.

“No,” I chuckled. It was a small chuckle, though. “Anyway, I hooked up with this band that was like on the verge of making it big. They would open for people like Zeppelin. So I hung out and partied with them. And slept with them, too. Then I graduated to bigger fish in the sea. But that’s my life. Get high, get laid, and party. Then I get homesick so I come back here. When I do, I’m just reminded why I left in the first place.”

“Dick,” Dan said. I nodded.

"Did you ever make it to college?" I asked Dan.

"No," he replied. I didn't miss the bitterness in his voice. I regretted even asking the question. "I was supposed to, but my scholarships fell through. So I decided to get a job and go a year later because I had to pay my own way. But then I got my draft notice." I saw his jaw tense up as if that alone could hold in the anger.

"If I had me a rich daddy, I probably wouldn't have gone," he went on bitterly. "He would have pulled some strings so I didn't have to. But I didn't have a rich daddy…or a rich adopted daddy."

I had the feeling that there was more to what Dan said than just the words. It's almost like a game. Choose your words carefully as to not say too much, but yet you somehow end up saying more than what you intended.

"Who had the rich adopted daddy?" I wondered.

"Some guy I knew back in New York," he replied. "I wasn't surprised when I found out that happened. Blue bloods don't have to send their boys off to war, but the rest of us have to go and see shit no person should ever have to see."

What Dan said was true. The rich get all the breaks. People like Charlie Burrows got to use the college deferment because his old man had connections to keep Charlie in school, even though Charlie pissed it all away. And then people like Ronny Johnson end up getting sent over there and coming home in a box. Charlie and Ronny were two guys I knew from high school.

“Like what?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to this, but I felt compelled to ask.

“Like watching in horror as one of your best friends gets his legs blown off by a land mine planted by the fucking United States Military and knowing you could have stopped it from happening, but you didn’t do a damn thing,” he spat. “And he actually volunteered to join the Army. He wanted to be noble and help out his parents so they didn’t have to pay for  _his_ college tuition. All he wanted was the fucking GI Bill. He lost his legs in the bargain.”

I watched Dan's expression go through this frightening mixture of anger and guilt. His bitterness and his resentment were evident to me. I could relate to it. I had bitterness and resentment of my own.

I didn't know what to say. I felt I had to say something, though. "That's so sad," I said softly. I didn't know what else to say.

"Sad?" Dan retorted. "Try a crime. Try a tragedy. Try a fucking shame."

His tone set something off in me. I felt I had to defend myself. I didn't know his friend. Yeah, it was a shame what happened to the guy, but I didn't know what else to say about it. "Well, I'm sorry," I retorted back. "What am I supposed to say?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

Dan's only reply was to get up, stalk over to the counter, grab an unopened bottle of whiskey, open it, and take a drink.

"And like that's going to make it all better," I said sarcastically. "Drinking yourself into oblivion and running away."

 _That's what you do, Michelle,_ my conscience reminded me.

"You're a fine one to talk," Dan snapped. He took another long drink. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

"At least I  _have_ the guts to go home again," I replied, almost in a taunting way. I realize what I said before was hypocritical of me, but he didn't have to remind me. I went on, adding more fuel to the fire. "At least I have the balls to go home again. You can't even face your friend or the guy whose daddy bought his way out of the war. You run away, drink, and stew about it. You can snap at me all you want, but deep down, you know it's the truth."

Dan didn't reply directly to that remark. Instead he said something that really cut me. "So you're a slut when you're high and you're a bitch when you're sober," he shouted.

I felt like I'd just been slapped hard. I didn't have a reply for that. I was at a loss for words. That remark hurt, especially given that not too long ago, I was baring my soul to this guy. I did the only thing I thought of doing. I threw off the blanket, stalked out of the cabin, and slammed the door hard.

I didn't go very far, though. I ended up sitting on the front steps. I produced a joint and smoked it, trying to get myself to calm down.

 _See, what did I tell you?_  Great. The Angel and Devil were back. I was in no mood to listen to them trying to hash out the mess that is my life.  _You get too close, they hurt you._

The joint wasn't calming me down fast enough. The other night, he makes love to me; tonight he screams at me. Looks like I fucked up again.

It didn't even bother me all that much when he pointed out the hypocrisy of some of my words. I said them before thinking about how that sounded. It was the "slut" part that hurt the most. It hurt because Dan was supposed to be different. He wasn't supposed to be like the others.

It was well after dark when I felt calm enough to go back into the cabin. I still didn't want to go up to the main house. The lights were on, but Dan was nowhere to be found. I didn't feel like looking for him. I stripped down to my underwear, turned out the lights, and went to sleep on the couch.

Around the same time as it happened a few nights ago, I woke up to the same screams that sent shivers down my spine and unnerved me. And just like it happened the other night, I felt compelled to do something.

 _Don't,_ Arizona warned me.  _He called you a slut. Why should you go in there and see what's wrong? Let him suffer._

 _You're getting too close,_ Michelle warned.  _He's only going to hurt you in the end._

I ignored both those inner voices. I had to do something. I just had to. I couldn't stand to let him sit there and suffer like that. I slipped from the couch and stole into the bedroom. Dan was still thrashing around the bed. I stood still, transfixed on the sight. Suddenly, he bolted upright, looking around the room in both confusion and in terror.

Quietly, I slid into the bed and I gathered him to me and held him again, just like I did the other night. "Shh," I said. "Shh."

Without realizing it, I started rocking him back and forth, just like my mother used to do to me when I was very small and I had a bad dream. It seemed to work, because eventually, Dan started to calm down.

When he was calm enough, he pulled away slightly and he looked at me. He really  _looked_  at me. I'm not sure what was going through his mind at the moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He didn't have to explain any further. I knew what he was apologizing for. I wasn't expecting it, but I was glad to hear it. At least he apologized. Nobody else ever does.

Then Dan did something that I wasn't expecting. He leaned in and he kissed me, much like he did a couple nights ago. And I thought I was going to melt or die in a good way.

 _Watch it,_ either the Angel or the Devil said. At this point, they seem to speak in the same voice, saying the same things.  _Don't get too close._ I ignored the voice again.

When the kiss broke, I looked at him. I reached out and touched his face, running my fingers along the hard angle of his jaw. "I'm sorry, too," I whispered. And I was. I was sorry that I made him angry, even though I didn't intend to make him angry. I didn't want Dan to be angry with me. Ever. It was important to me now that he wasn't angry with me.

And just like the other night, time ceased to matter and the pain was washed away again. Like the other night, I fell asleep in his arms afterward. And also like the other night, I left the cabin before he woke up.

* * *

The next night was Wednesday night. I got here on Sunday. Monday was the day I got drunk down at the lake. Last night, the night we fought, was Tuesday. For the last few weeks, days seemed to run together so much, I lost the ability to tell whether it was Monday or Thursday. Since I got back, I know what day of the week it is. Sunday is when I met Dan. But now my conscience was telling me that I really shouldn't be staying.

It was the same old argument. Arizona vs. Michelle. Arizona was convinced that if I stayed, Dan was going to hurt me. Michelle was convinced that I was only going to end up hurting Dan by staying.

Then a third voice decided to join the fray. Little Shelly asserted herself and said that I would end up hurting Dan if I left here.

Great. More arguing inside my head. I decided to give it the rest of the week. I honestly don't know how Dan feels about me. I hope he feels something for me because I feel something when I'm around him. I think I do, anyway. I'm not sure what it is, though. I'm not sure if it's love or if it's just something else.

I seek out love from other people and I continue to do it, even though I've come to the conclusion that love is for suckers. It doesn't exist. People say that they love you, but they only want something from you. My friends Sharon and Max say they love each other, but they sleep with other people, and even though they say they're okay with it and that monogamy is an outdated notion, I've seen the little green-eyed monster rear its ugly head in both of them.

Wednesday evening, as the sun was setting, I went back to the cabin again. Dan was in his usual spot on the front steps and tonight, his drink of choice was bourbon. It was hot out that night. Unlike the previous night, he put the stereo speakers in the windows and turned on the radio.

When I approached the steps, Dan only looked up at me a bit before he took a drink. I plunked myself next to him on the steps and stretched out my legs. We said nothing for the longest time. He took a drink from the bourbon bottle, and then he passed it over to me so I could have a drink.

After awhile, he asked me, "Why do you do it?"

"Do what?" I answered him.

"The groupie thing," he replied. "Why do you do it?"

I looked down at my sandaled feet. "Kicks," I replied. "To feel good."

After a pause, he asked, "Does it work?"

I drew my legs up in front of me. "Used to," I replied. "It might again some day."

Another lengthy pause. "Is it as crazy as I've heard?" he asked me. He took a drink and then he passed the bottle over to me and I did the same.

"Depends on what you've heard," I shrugged. "Some of it's true, some of it's just bullshit, and some of it is bizarre but true." I hoped he wasn't going to ask me what I did. I don't feel like telling him about those things I've done. I'm not proud of most of it.

"Stuff like what?" he wondered.

Great. I didn't want him to ask this.

I decided to answer him in a general way. Maybe that would satisfy his curiosity. "Props, food, whips, more than two people of the same or differing genders involved in the act, you name it," I said. "Why do they do it?" I continued, anticipating Dan's next question. "They do it because they want to please these rock gods. Some of them do it because they want these rock gods to declare their undying love for them. Some of them do it for the simple thrill of fucking someone famous. And others see themselves as providing a service for these rock gods by being a companion to them when they're out on the lonely old road."

Dan absorbed this. He took another drink of bourbon and then passed the bottle to me. I took another drink and passed it back to him. After another lengthy pause, he asked, "So which one of those reasons is your reason?"

After a lengthy pause of my own, I replied softly, "All of them."

 _You said too much again,_ my conscience told me. I had the bottle of bourbon in my hand and took a long drink this time to shut up that voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle discovers she has feelings for Dan and has a decision to make.

Thursday, July 12, 1973

 

Thursday was the hottest day so far this week. It was close to eighty degrees when I left the cabin that morning and went to the main house to take a shower and eat something.

As soon as I walked into the house, Mary said to me, "You got a phone call last night, Michelle."

Who in the hell would be calling me here? Nobody knows I'm here.

"Who was it?" I asked.

"He said his name was Barry," Mary replied. "He said to call him at home. He said you knew the number."

"Oh," I replied. Barry was one of the last people I wanted to talk to right now.

Mary noticed my expression. "Are you all right?" she asked.

 _No._ "Just peachy," I replied without enthusiasm.

Mary gave me a pointed look. "If you say so, Michelle," she replied.

I went upstairs to the bathroom and got into the shower to wash off all the grime that you tend to get when it's really hot out and blinking makes you sweat. I thought about Dan again and my conscience began its daily war of words.

I don't know what I'm going to do with my life. I know that I don't like my life. I suppose if I want to make my life into something I like and can be happy with, I have to change it. But how? How do you change something when everyone around you won't let you change?

Maybe I should stay here? It might be easier to change things when I'm around someone who doesn't know me or hasn't seen the things I've done. But if I stay here, it also means that I have to deal with my brother and everyone else who like to remind me of the things I've done and how worthless I am. And if I come back here to stay for good, it means I've crawled back.

When I left Harrisburg five years ago, I swore that if I ever came back, it wasn't going to be until I was Somebody Important. In Harrisburg, being Somebody Important isn't too difficult. If I had gone to Yale and graduated magna cum laude, people would say when I walked by, "Oh, there's Michelle O'Brien. She graduated from Yale. Magna cum laude." They'd sound duly impressed because I did something impressive. If I were one of the models at the annual Scottsbluff Farm and Ranch show, pointing and smiling vacuously at some new farm implement, I'd be important, too. I wanted to be more important than that. I wasn't sure what exactly it was I was going to do to become Somebody Important. I didn't know if I'd become an actress or a model or marry an actor or a musician. All I knew is that what I did had to be big.

When I became Somebody Important, I was going to come back to town. When the mayor and the town officials heard I was coming back, they'd throw the requisite ceremony to honor me and they'd give me the key to the city or something like that. And when they did, I was going to tell all of them to kiss my lily-white ass.

Then I was going to get even. I don't know exactly how I was going to do this, but I was definitely going to get even with everyone who ever said anything bad about me or did something bad to me. I was going to make the lives of those people as much a living hell as they made mine growing up.

Sometimes, I still want to do that. I don't want this as badly as I used to. I still want to be Somebody Important, though.

Maybe I should move to Denver? Denver's a big enough city and only one person there really knows me, but she doesn't have to know I live there. That person is my aunt, the one that wouldn't take me when my parents died. When they died, Dickie wasn't supposed to be my guardian unless someone else couldn't be found. My grandmother was too old to take care of me, so that left my aunt Margaret. She lives in Denver near the university. I saw her on the holidays and sometimes my parents would drive out to Denver with me to see her. She was my only aunt, but she was still my favorite aunt. I have other relatives, but they lived too far away. When she wouldn't take me in, I was devastated. As the years went by, and things happened to me, I started hating her.

I already got even with her for that. And when I look back on what happened, I wish I hadn't done that.

I got out of the shower and I got dressed. I went downstairs and helped myself to some food and some coffee. My niece and nephew were still sleeping so it was just Mary in the kitchen. I didn't say anything to her. She did all the talking.

"Where've you been these days?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Around." I didn't want to get into the last few weeks of my life. I didn't want to tell her where I spent my nights here. She'd tell Dickie and then Dan would get in trouble and I didn't want Dan to get into trouble with my brother because of me.

"Anyplace specific?" she asked as she started putting food away.

"No," I said.

"It sure is hot out," Mary said after awhile. "Poor Chrissy's got heat rash." I think she was referring to my niece. I don't remember those kids' names half the time.

"Yeah," I replied. "It's very hot out." I said nothing about Chrissy's heat rash. I glanced at the clock. It was a little after six in the morning, which meant that it was an hour earlier in LA. I was going to wait until nine in the morning to call Barry just to wake him up out of spite. But I needed an excuse to get out of here and not have to answer any more of her questions.

Mary came into my life because my brother hired her as a housekeeper when I was twelve. She was Brunner's replacement. I went from having the Psycho Hell Bitch in the house to having someone who is a cross between Aunt Bea and Donna Reed. Mary likes to think she's my mother. She's not my mother. I have a mother, but she's currently six feet underground next to my father. I used to remind Mary of this often. Mary became my sister-in-law because my brother knocked her up when I was seventeen. Mary thinks she can tell me what to do. She thinks I need to find some guy and marry him and that would make my life better. Marriage is also for suckers. Nobody I know respects the institution. Dick cheats on Mary. Big Rock Singer Guy cheats on his wife back home. Max cheats on Sharon and vice versa. Okay, they're not married, but nobody seems to respect being with one person anymore.

I bet Dan wouldn't cheat on me. That is, if I were actually having a relationship with him.

I went into the den and dialed Barry's number. He might still be awake. When he picked up, I said, "What do you want?"

"What in the hell are you doing in Nebraska, Arizona?" he said.

"Had to get away," I replied sarcastically.

"I thought you said you were never going back there," Barry pointed out. I said that many times, but yet, I still came back. He should know that by now.

"I changed my mind," I retorted.

"When are you coming back?" Barry wanted to know. "We miss you."

"When I feel like it," I replied. "You don't miss me," I added. "It took you three and a half weeks to figure out I was gone."

Barry let that remark pass. "When are you coming back, Arizona?"

"Maybe I'm not," I replied.

"Don't tell me you met some local yokel there and you think you're in love with him," Barry groaned.

"No," I snapped. That was only half true. Dan's neither local nor yokel.

"Then why in the hell would you want to stay there?"

"Who said I was staying here?" I snapped. "Maybe I don't want to go back to LA. Maybe I'm sick and tired of being your fag hag, Barry. Maybe I want to get a life of my own. Maybe I don't want to be Arizona anymore. Maybe I'm sick and tired of only being important to all of you when you want something from me. Ever think of that?"

Barry sighed. "Why would you want to give this up? And what am I supposed to say when people ask where Arizona is?"

"Tell them it's east of California," I retorted.

"Very funny," Barry said sarcastically. "You'll change your mind, Arizona. I know you will. Anyway, we're headed back out on the road on Saturday. There's a plane ticket waiting for you at Stapleton if you change your mind."

"My name is Michelle," I snapped into the phone. "Not Arizona. Michelle. M-I-C-H-E-L-L-E." And with that, I slammed the handset back into the receiver. Barry and all those guys can go to hell.

I was fuming at this point. They don't get it and they'll never get it. The lives they lead aren't all that it's cracked up to be. I turned on my heel and was about to stalk out of the den, but I saw Mary standing in the doorway. She gave me a curious look.

"Is everything all right, Michelle?" she asked.

"What do you think?" I snapped at her. I stalked past Mary and went out of the house, slamming the wooden screen door for good measure.

* * *

 

It was too hot to do anything that day. Dan was working out in some far flung corner of the spread and it was too hot out to walk down there to find him, even though I had enough energy and then some to walk the entire way. I wanted to find him. I needed to find him.

Instead, after a few hours of trying to calm down and finding I couldn't do it without the aid of a joint, I jumped in my car and drove up to Scottsbluff. I was out of grass, cigarettes, and out of booze. I drove up there with the windows opened and Black Sabbath pumping out of the stereo. I listen to Sabbath when I'm pissed off about something.

First, I went to the liquor store and I picked up a six pack of beer, some JD, and some Scotch. Then I went over to this park in town. If you go to the edge of it, near this stream, and out of the way of the general public and you go at a certain time, there's usually someone there willing to sell you the goods. I got enough pot to last me for two weeks. I wanted to get some coke, too, but the guy only had grass and smack. I don't shoot smack. I can't stand the idea of willingly sticking a needle in my arm to get high, so I do other things like pot and blow. I haven't done blow since I was in Portland.

After that, I went back to the ranch. Instead of pulling my car into the driveway and parking it where I had it parked, I took a detour. There's another way to get to the lake and it's from the road. I used to take this way when me and some kids I hung out with skipped school. This was the "safe" way. Nobody saw you going in there and the truant officer didn't know about this route.

I took my things with me to the dock. I kicked off my sandals and stuck my feet in the water. The cold water felt so good. I cracked open a beer and then I took the plastic bag full of grass and I started rolling joints.

By the time I finished that particular task, I had calmed down. I decided that it was too quiet out here, so I got up and went to the boathouse to get a radio I knew was stashed there. I found it and brought it outside with me. I was expecting to find the same ancient AM radio that had been in here since I was in high school. I was pleasantly surprised to find this one was newer and had FM on it.

It was some time during the early afternoon when Dan found me at the lake. When I heard the thumping of his boots as they hit the wooden dock, I turned around to look at him.

 _Don't tell me that you've met some local yokel and you think you're in love with him._ Barry's words echoed in my brain. I tried to push them out, but they were only replaced by my conscience.

_You are in love with him, aren't you? What did I tell you about getting too close?_

I tried to shut that voice up. "It's pretty early for you to be done for the day," I said to Dan.

"It's too hot to work," he replied. He was standing next to me. "Do you mind if..."

"Go ahead," I replied waving my hand towards the empty spot next to me.

Dan sat down, but after he took his boots off. He rolled up his jeans and stuck his feet into the water. We both sat on the dock side by side with our feet dangling in the water.

I broke a can of beer from the plastic ring. "Want one?" I asked Dan. He took it from me and pulled the tab off the top of it. I lit a cigarette.

"Does it always get this hot here?" Dan asked me after one of those patented periods of silence we seem to have between us.

"Not this hot," I replied.

"When I went past the barn, the thermometer said it was 110," he replied.

"I believe it," I replied. I went back to nursing my beer.

Last night, at the cabin, after Dan asked me about my "groupie thing", as he put it, he told me a story of something he did once when he was in 'Nam while on R and R. It was pretty funny actually. He was smiling and laughing. The smile was real, not that sad, little forced half smile he usually has. I remember thinking to myself that I wanted to see him smile like that all the time. Then somehow, when the Moody Blues came on the radio, we started making out on the steps. And the night ended like all the other nights ended and the next day began like all the other next days begin.

When Dan talked about his time in Vietnam, it made me think of Ronny Johnson. Ronny was a friend of mine from high school who got drafted. Ronny came home from the war in a box. He's buried in the cemetery in town, not far from my parents. Ronny got drafted almost as soon as he turned nineteen. We used to write to each other while he was in Vietnam. I remembered something he once wrote in a letter and I wondered if what Ronny told me was true.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to ask Dan, though. I wasn't sure because I didn't want to make him angry again. From the corner of my eye, I studied his expression. He was expressionless. I decided to ask.

"Can I ask you something?" I said. "About the war?" The worst he could do was say no, and if he said no, I'd drop the subject.

"What do you want to know?" he replied.

"This guy I knew from high school got drafted and served over there," I began. "We used to write to each other when he was over there. He told me that the first time he had to kill someone else, he couldn't sleep at night. Then he said that he had to become someone else to deal with the knowledge that he took another person's life." I turned to look at Dan. "Is that true?"

"Yeah," he said after a bit of thought. "You do. You have to shut yourself off from feeling anything and you can't think of those other people as people. It helped you sleep at night." He stared ahead towards the other side of the lake, but it looked like he was seeing something else instead of the opposite shore. "I used to do that when I was in the gang," he said in a distant voice. "I couldn't think of those people I mugged as being real people with lives and family and friends. I had to think of them as targets." He went on. "I used to tell myself that they weren't people and I'd tell myself not to listen to them when they pleaded with me to let them go. I used to force myself to think of the money I'd get and I'd force myself to think of my mother, lying in the hospital. I told myself that this was for her." Noticing my quizzical look, he added, "Whatever money I got from the jobs I pulled went to pay for my mother's medicine and her hospital bills."

"That's why you joined?" I asked him.

"It was easy money," he replied. "We needed it and my mother wouldn't take charity from other people. My mother was a very proud woman. I was too young to quit school and get a full time job at the time and I was too young to get an after school job that wasn't delivering papers."

Dan went on. I guess he was in the mood to talk today. "After my uncle took me with him, I learned to stop thinking like that, sort of. I'd brood and not say anything, but I stopped thinking of other people as anything but other people. When I went to Vietnam, I had to start thinking like that again. The first time I killed someone, I couldn't sleep at night, either." I could hear the regret and the sadness in his voice. He went on again. "When you're forced to think that way, you lose something that you can't get back."

I had no verbal reply for that. I knew all about shutting off your feelings. I laid my hand on his forearm and gave him a look that said I understood what he meant. A silence hung in the air after that. I didn't know what to say and I didn't know if I should even say anything at the moment. I was saved by the radio and Neil Young declaring he intended to spend the rest of his life with his cinnamon girl.

 _I want to live with a cinnamon girl_  
_I could be happy the rest of my life_  
_With a cinnamon girl_

 _A dreamer of pictures I run in the night._  
_You see us together chasing the moonlight_  
_My cinnamon girl_

My hand continued to rest on Dan's forearm. The song played and we just listened to it and didn't say a word to each other. Without breaking any contact, somehow my hand ended up in his and our fingers were laced together. I thought how nice it was that someone actually wanted to hold my hand and how I missed having a guy hold my hand and nothing else. I didn't pull away. I couldn't pull away.

 _You're getting too close. You'd better watch it, little girl,_ my conscience told me.

 _Oh, shut up,_ I thought. This just felt too good.

Neil gave way to the Beatles. As George asked us if we wanted to know a secret, I asked Dan, "Did you see them on Ed Sullivan?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I had to see what all the fuss was about."

"You didn't like them?" I wondered. "I loved the Beatles."

"I liked them," he replied. "It was just all those screaming girls." He twisted his face in an exaggerated grimace and it made me laugh. "My mom hadn't gone into the hospital yet, so she saw it, too. She just looked at the TV and said, 'When I was your age, Danny, it was Frank Sinatra'. Then she went into how much she'd swoon over Frank and all I could think was, 'That's nice, but I'd rather watch this.'" Dan chuckled a little bit.

"Dick just referred to them as 'those long-haired faggots' and called their music 'racket'," I said. "I told him he was full of it. But," I continued. "That began this love affair I have with music."

Music has been my salvation. Music has been my escape. When things got too unbearable, and before I discovered the joys of getting trashed, I'd hole up in my room and listen to music to escape my reality. I got heavily into music when I discovered the Beatles. I can still remember that February night, not long after I turned fourteen, when I commandeered the television set to watch John, Paul, George, and Ringo on Ed Sullivan. For those minutes they were on, I forgot that my life was miserable and that nobody loved me. I was caught up in the magic of the whole thing. You felt good just listening to it. Of course, Dick grumbled about those "long-haired faggots" on TV, but I didn't care. I was hooked.

And then came the Rolling Stones. At fourteen, I would have dated a Beatle. A Beatle was safe. Yeah, their hair was long, but they dressed nice and they rocked, but you could still bring them home. The Stones were dangerous, they were bad, and the badness appealed to me, calling out to my rebellious side. The Stones weren't cuddly. The Stones were like the bad boy you had to sneak around to see because your parents didn't approve.

But it was the summer of '67, the summer before my senior year of high school, that really did it for me. There was Jimi who got on his knees and lit his guitar on fire, coaxing the flames up with his hands in some musical orgasmic moment. And then there was Janis, who to me embodied the sort of woman I wanted to be. Janis was tough. Janis told you like it was, but she was still all woman, but in an earthier and more real way than someone like, say, Jackie Kennedy. You didn't mess with Janis Joplin. And then there was the Lizard King himself, Jim Morrison, and his leather pants, who just oozed the word "sex" and was more dangerous than the Stones ever could be. I loved all of it.

The music was different, too. It wasn't the sunny, cheerful sounds of a song like "I Want To Hold Your Hand". It was raw, it rocked, and it was like a big seduction. The Beatles of '64 wanted to hold your hand. Jimi was experienced and he wanted to prove it to you. Jim wanted you to light his fire and he wanted to be your back door man. This wasn't the soundtrack of those shy, awkward adolescent years. This wasn't an innocent good night kiss. This was going all the way. It made you feel different.

And when I heard this music, I could never listen to the radio the same again. It was the same as sex. Sex changes everything.

The song on the radio changed again.

 _Love is but the song we sing,_  
_And fear's the way we die_  
_You can make the mountains ring_  
_Or make the angels cry_  
_Know the dove is on the wing_  
_And you need not know why_

"What's with all the older songs?" I wondered.

"It's this all request thing they do," Dan replied. Then he changed the subject. "You know, I went to Woodstock, too."

"You did?" I replied.

"With some friends," he said. "We got separated for most of it."

I laughed a short laugh. "The same thing happened to me," I said. Then I looked at him and grinned. "You didn't take the brown acid, did you?"

"No," Dan replied with a laugh. "I went because it was this sort of last bash thing before the fall. My friends went to college and I went to boot camp." His face fell at the memory, but only for a moment. "Why'd you go?"

"Because it was Something Big," I replied. "It was a Happening. And I wanted to see Janis and Jimi. I got separated from my friends the entire time. I didn't find them until Monday, after I'd walked the two miles back to the car."

"I didn't find mine until Monday, either," he replied.

Another one of those silences fell over us. Dan broke it when he asked, "This Ronny Johnson, was he your boyfriend?"

I shook my head. "No. He was just a friend of mine." I just left it at that. I didn't feel like explaining the finer points of my relationship with Ronny Johnson. We were friends, we talked a lot, we ditched school a lot, and we occasionally slept together. But I could tell him anything and he understood what I was talking about. Three weeks before graduation, I thought he might have gotten me pregnant, but it was a false alarm. When Ronny died, I sometimes wondered if the pregnancy thing hadn't been a false alarm if he might still be alive. He would have married me to give the kid a name and he could have gotten out of going to Vietnam by claiming he was the sole source of support for his family.

I don't think about that anymore. I used to think this a lot, especially after Ronny died. But I don't think about it anymore. What's done is done. You can't go back and change the past. I, of all people, should know that.

For some reason, when the silences settled over us today, I felt content to let it stay. It was like nothing had to be said and nothing needed to be said. Just sitting on this dock, listening to the radio, and having Dan hold my hand was all that I needed.

But then a thought occurred to me. Dan never told me his last name. Of course, I never asked, but I've been here for four days and I didn't know his last name.

"So what's the name of your clan?" I asked him.

"Huh?" he replied, as if I startled him out of something. I hid a smile.

"Your last name," I said. "What's your last name?"

"Mangan," he replied. "Dan Mangan."

I laughed. "So you're a secret agent with a cool car and lots of gadgets and you get all the chicks?"

Dan looked at me strangely. "What are you talking about?"

"The way you said your name just now," I replied. I repeated his name, the way he had said it earlier.

"Oh," he replied with a laugh. "You found me out."

"And I guess that makes me Pussy Galore," I grinned.

"You said that one, not me," Dan replied, grinning himself. Then he laughed again. "'My dear girl, there are some things that just aren't done, such as drinking Dom Perignon '53 above the temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit. That's just as bad as listening to the Beatles without earmuffs!'" he said in a pretty fair imitation of Sean Connery. We both laughed. Then he said, "No, I think your name would be...Tamara Goodenplenty."

I laughed. "You think so?" I asked.

"Yep," he replied.

"It wouldn't be something like 'Lupe Whetmore' or 'Gigi Shagmore' or even 'Paris Swallowes'?" I asked with a grin.

"Nope," he replied again.

We ended up spending the rest of the day and all night down at the lake. We talked a lot, mainly about superficial things like movies and music and television shows. I found a blanket in the boathouse and we moved from the dock to the grassy part beyond the boathouse and we lay on the blanket, while the radio played, and watched the stars until we both fell asleep.

And like the other days, I left before Dan woke up. My conscience was nagging at me again.

* * *

 

 

Friday, July 13, 1973

I went up to Scottsbluff again today. This time I went to the five and dime to pick something up that was sorely needed for that cabin. Last night, neither Dan nor I wanted to go back up there because it was just too hot in there, even after the sun went down. You can open all the windows in that cabin, but it's still stuffy inside. So I went up to Scottsbluff to get him a fan.

When I went to the cabin to give it to Dan, it was around suppertime.

"You cook?" I asked him after I walked inside. I didn't knock on the door. I just walked in.

"I heated it up," he replied. "Mary brought it over." Then he asked, "You want some?"

I said yes. I was hungry. "There are plates in there," Dan said, pointing to the cupboard. "Forks are in there." He pointed to a drawer. Then he noticed the box I held. "What's that?" he asked.

"A fan," I replied. "It's too hot in here. I figured you could stick in the window or something like that."

He set his plate on the counter and he took the box from my hands. "Well," he said, looking at the box. "Thank you. You didn't have to, but thank you."

"I wanted to," I said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. Dan was giving me a funny look. I recovered by going to the cupboard to get a plate.

After we finished eating, we went outside and sat on the steps. Dan brought a bottle of whiskey with him. The stereo speakers were in the window again and the radio was on. We started passing the bottle back and forth between us.

After another one of those silences that keep happening between us, the song on the radio caught my attention. Scott Mackenzie advised us that if we were going to San Francisco, we should be sure to wear some flowers in our hair. That song made me think of something else.

"When I was seventeen," I said. "I wanted to hop a bus and go to Haight-Ashbury. I almost did it, too."

"Really?" Dan asked. "Why?"

"It just looked so...groovy," I replied. "It looked so utopian. People didn't seem to have all their hang-ups about other people. It just seemed better there."

"As opposed to here," Dan said.

"Yeah," I replied. I let out a hollow laugh. "I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I tried to run away from home when I was a kid."

"That bad?" Dan asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

That melancholy feeling I get when I think about my childhood was coming back. I could feel it. I fished out a joint and lit it. As it was my habit, I held it out to Dan and offered him some. I always did this, no matter who was sitting next to me, no matter where I happened to sit. Richard Nixon could be sitting next to me and I'd still offer him a hit. I have no problem sharing weed with other people as long as I'm the one doing the offering. If you try to find my stash and you take it, I'll give you hell about it.

Dan always refused, but I still asked. It was just habit.

He surprised me, though. Dan surprised me by saying yes and taking the joint. He took a hit from it and passed it back to me. I said nothing to him about it. I took another hit from it and I held on to the joint. Dan looked at me expectantly, so I passed it over to him again.

The air was very still. There was no breeze to speak of, nothing to give us relief from the heat. The only sounds that could be heard were the  _whirr_  of the fan coming from the inside the bedroom and the radio broadcast wafting from the stereo speakers.

_"Ninety-Seven, Kay-Ess-Bee-Ehhhf..."_

"It's your thing, do what you wanna do  
I can't tell ya, who to sock it to..."

"Wanna dance?" Dan asked suddenly.

I never pegged Dan as the dancing type. The dark-haired brooding type guys were the ones who rarely danced. They were the ones who sat next to the wall and if they were the bad boy-type, they watched you with a predatory gaze as you danced to something fast. And you knew they were watching you, so you played it up big time. Maybe he was asking because of the pot.

"It's too hot," I said. I love to dance, otherwise I would have taken him up on the offer. "I'll probably pass out."

"Yeah, you're right," he replied. He passed the joint back to me, and I had the last hit.

"I used to be a dancer," I told him. "When I first moved to LA." Off in the distance, I swore I heard the faint rumble of thunder.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied. Dan held out the whiskey bottle to me. I took it and had a drink and I passed it back to him. "I worked in this one club and I had the boots and all that. I even had a dress with fringes on it."

"You weren't in a cage, were you?" he asked.

"Yep," I said. "I was in a cage. And all the kids went out and danced on the dance floor and me and my friend Sharon danced in cages." I laughed. "Mary thought I was in some chorus line and Dickie thought I was stripper, of course." I rolled my eyes after that last part. Then I swore I heard thunder again. "Man," I laughed. "I could get the fringes on the dress to stand out."

"You couldn't show me, could you?" Dan asked. "The dancing, I mean," he added when he saw my confused look.

I wondered why he had this thing about the fact that I danced? It had to be the pot. "You mean like I did in the cage?"

Dan nodded. "Yeah, like that."

"It's too hot out," I replied, blowing air upwards to fan out my bangs for effect. "And it's not the same without the dress, either."

"Oh," Dan replied, sounding a bit disappointed.

"I don't have the dress here," I added. The thunder sound I kept thinking I heard rumbled again.

"But you'll show me sometime, right?"

"I suppose," I replied. "You want to see it that bad, huh?"

"Just curious," he shrugged. And the thunder rumbled again.

Slowly, I got up from the steps. The door and the steps we were sitting on were facing the east. I walked to the corner of the cabin and looked around, to the west and sure enough, I saw the dark clouds piling up in the west. I walked back to the steps and sat down again. "I think it's going to rain," I said.

"Oh," he replied.

_"97 KSBF. This is Davy Richfield and "It's Your Thing" at seven-fifteen on this hot Friday night. Scottsbluff weather for this evening, partly cloudy with a low of 79 degrees. Tomorrow, sunny and hot with a high in the low to mid 100's. Currently, it's a steamy 98 degrees in Scottsbluff, 99 in Gering, and 99 in Terrytown. If you're looking to beat the heat, head on out to the Rialto and watch a movie in air conditioned comfort. Playing this week at the Rialto is the Charleton Heston film "Soylent Green". The Rialto is located on Main Street in downtown Scottsbluff. Wednesdays are KSBF Night at the Rialto. All shows are only fifty cents. Now here's the Carpenters and "Top of the World"._

"Gee," Dan muttered sarcastically. "Thanks for harshing my buzz, Davy."

"Don't like the Carpenters?" I asked.

"Can't stand the Carpenters," he replied. He took a drink. The thunder rumbled again. I got up again to look at the approaching dark clouds. Dan followed me around the corner of the cabin and he stood behind me.

"It's going to rain," I said.

"Nah," he replied. "Davy said nothing about rain."

"Davy's in Scottsbluff," I said. "It's going to rain. I hope it does. I'm sick of the heat."

"Well, you should be used to it," he said. "Since you live in California."

"It's a dry heat out there," I replied. "Not like this oppressive stuff."

I went back around the corner to the steps. The Carpenters had given way to a radio advertisement for Hostess Cupcakes. The guy in the advertisement sang about how he liked to go inside Hostess Cupcakes when things got to be too much for him and that Hostess Cupcakes were his friends. Dan and I exchanged glances before we burst out laughing.

"People who write commercials should not be taking acid," I said. "Not if it makes them write stuff like that."

"That was definitely weird," Dan agreed. We looked at each other and started laughing again. The thunder rumbled some more, this time it was a little louder. The sky was getting darker, too. It was almost as dark as night. A slight breeze kicked up, but it didn't last long. I noticed the birds had stopped chirping and I didn't hear the crickets, either.

"Maybe we should go inside," Dan suggested.

I shook my head. "It's too hot in there." The thunder rumbled again. The air was still, quiet, except for the sounds coming from the radio.

_"97 KSBF would like to remind you that Scottsbluff's 17th Annual Round-Up is being held at Monument Park July 26th through the 29th. There will be food, carnival rides, midway games, exhibits, and entertainment. On Saturday, the 28th, don't miss the parade with floats, clowns, and marching bands from all over western Nebraska. Stay for the Demolition Derby on Saturday night. The 17th Annual Scottsbluff Round-Up is sponsored by Scottsbluff Elevator, Great Plains Livestock Sales, The First State Bank of Scottsbluff, the Scottsbluff Chamber of Commerce, Kelly's Diner in Harrisburg, and your friends at 97 KSBF. Here's the Spinners with "Could It Be I'm Falling In Love" going out to Sheila from Robby...on 97 KSBF."_

"Is that worth going to?" Dan asked me.

I shook my head. "No," I said. "All people do there is stand around and drink beer all day. The entertainment is usually some guy who can play the accordion, the parade is a real drag, and the carnies are frightening and they run the rides so fast, everyone throws up."

There was more thunder and another slight breeze kicked up again. The thunder was loud enough to obscure the Spinners.

"We should go inside," Dan said.

"The breeze feels too good," I replied. I closed my eyes as I felt the breeze caress my skin and that scent, that sweet, distinctive scent of the air right before the rain falls wafted past me. There was more thunder. And then the first, fat drops of rain started to fall.

"Well, suit yourself," Dan said. "I'm going inside." I heard the squeak of the screen door as he opened it.

There is something about a good old fashioned Plains thundershower that draws me to them. I'm not talking about the bad storms where the sky turns green, hail falls, the wind whips around, and you end up going into the basement because the tornado sirens are screaming. There's something in the violent sound of thunder coupled with rain falling down when it falls gently. It's the contradiction of both of those things that draws me in, how something can be both violent and gentle at the same time.

More thunder cracked and then the rain started coming down a little harder than it was before. It was falling in a somewhat gentle way which belied the thunder. When it thunders the way it is, you'd expect a downpour, but it wasn't pouring. The rain just fell.

I stepped off the porch and walked into the rain, letting it give me relief from the stickiness and the heat. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back and I didn't see that Dan was standing on the steps, holding the door open, but not going inside. I was oblivious to the fact that he was watching me standing in the rain. I was oblivious to the fact that the song changed on the radio again.

I felt like I was being cleansed. Cleansed of the dirt and the stickiness and the grime that goes with hot and humid weather. I felt free because there is some freedom in doing something as kooky as standing outside in the middle of a thundershower.

Or maybe this is all in my head because I was still a bit stoned from that joint?

It didn't matter. I knew how I felt and I knew that what I felt was real. This free feeling was real. Without consciously trying to do this, I let out a whoop.

I did become aware that Dan was standing on the steps with the door handle in his grasp and one foot inside the open door. "You should try this," I shouted to him over the rain. "It feels good!"

"I'll pass," he said dryly. "I've had more than my share of standing out in the rain."

"Suit yourself," I replied. Then I became aware of other things, like my wet clothes and my wet hair being plastered against me. I was aware of how soft the patch of yellowed grass felt underneath my feet and I thought of how maybe ten minutes before, I wouldn't have walked barefoot through this same patch of grass because it was dry and brittle from the sun and it hurt to walk on it.

I closed my eyes again and I started to lose myself in all of this. I felt like things were being washed away, much in the same way I felt the first night I was here, after Dan woke up from that nightmare and right before I fell asleep in his arms.

The rain let up a little and when I became aware of it, when my senses tuned back into the here and now, I realized that the song on the radio had changed yet again. When I opened my eyes, Dan stood in front of me. Raindrops were clinging to his skin and his hair was wet. He must have been standing there for awhile. Our eyes met. And the radio played on.

You see this guy, this guy's in love with you  
Yes, I'm in love, who looks at you the way I do  
When you smile, I can tell  
We know each other very well  
How can I show you, I'm glad I got to know you, 'cause

Dan has the darkest eyes I've ever seen on anyone. They're this very dark brown, almost like dark chocolate, but there are flecks of lighter brown in them, giving them that richness that dark chocolate has. They're very intense looking eyes. They're very easy to get lost in. When I looked at him then, I felt myself falling over the proverbial edge of the proverbial cliff that is my life as I know it. No amount of clawing or reaching for the edge could stop me. It was too late for that. It was much too late for that.

I've heard some talk, they say you think I'm fine  
This guy's in love and what I'd do to make you mine  
Tell me now, is it so, don't let me be the last to know  
My hands are shakin', don't let my heart be breakin' 'cause  
I need your love. I want your love.  
Say you're in love, in love with this guy. If not, I'll just die...

Dan leaned in a bit, but he stopped short and he looked at me again. He looked at me in such a way, it was as if he was trying to look into my soul. He brought his hand up to touch my cheek and his thumb caressed my cheekbone. He continued his gaze and then he said to me softly, "You're so beautiful, Michelle."

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Nobody has ever said that to me before. They've never said those words with my name, my real name, before. Some people have said the word "beautiful" in reference to me, but they used the name "Arizona" and not "Michelle" and they were either high or they wanted something from me. I had this feeling, though, that Dan wasn't just talking about how I looked. I was right, because he added, "You're a beautiful person, Michelle. Don't let anyone tell you you're not."

Tell me now is it so, don't let me be the last to know  
My hands are shakin', don't let my heart be breakin' 'cause  
I need your love. I want your love.  
Say you're in love, in love with this guy   
If not, I'll just die.

I didn't know what to say at this moment. I was at a complete and total loss for words.

I didn't have to say anything because Dan kissed me. He kissed me so deeply and so passionately, my knees felt like they were turning into jelly. My arms went around his neck as his mouth moved against mine. I could taste the raindrops and I could taste him and it was something that was very heady and wonderful and much better than any high I ever experienced. I felt this feeling, this heady feeling, throughout my entire being.

Dan broke the kiss and he looked at me again in that same intense way he did before. The rain continued falling on both of us. His thumb started caressing my cheekbone again. "Let's go inside," he said in a husky voice.

This time, I went with him.

* * *

 

 

saturday, july 14, 1973

The bedroom door was opened, allowing some of the morning sunlight that flooded the main room of the cabin through the opening. It shone brightly on the floor, but it stopped short of the bed. I woke up, saw this, and thought to myself that I must have been really tired last night to sleep this late. I smiled to myself, remembering the reason why I slept in a little later than I normally did.

As the sleep gradually left me, I became aware of a warm body next to mine, curled up around me like a spoon, and a strong pair of arms around me. I shifted a bit and turned my head and my eyes met another pair, a pair of dark ones. Dan was awake.

"Good morning," he said in a soft, lazy way.

Dan was awake and I was still here? "Good morning," I replied.

Dan rolled over onto his back, taking me with him. I settled my head into the curve of his neck. Sleep hadn't completely left me yet and this felt too good.

I heard the radio again. I don't remember it being turned off at some point last night. There was no music, just some guy trying to sell his old lawnmower on "Trading Post".

Dan was stroking my skin slowly and it felt so good. "Did you sleep well?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said softly. "Did you?"

He paused, as if thinking. "Yeah," he said. "I did."

It dawned on me just now that Dan never woke up in the middle of the night. There was no nightmare, no screams, and no terrified looks. Dan didn't have a nightmare last night. I smiled at him and he smiled back at me. Then he kissed me.

I decided right then and there that I didn't want to get out of this bed ever. I wanted to stay here, in Dan's arms, having him look at me the way he was looking at me, and I wanted to stay here forever.

Dan started to move, to get out of the bed. "Where are you going?" I asked him.

"Unfortunately," he said. "I have to work today."

Damn. "Couldn't you call in?" I asked. I really didn't want him to go to work. I didn't want him to get out of this bed at all.

"I can't," he replied. "Everyone else is in Kansas City."

My face fell. I think Dan saw that. "I won't be long, though," he said. "Just a few hours." He slid out of bed. I sat up. He leaned down and kissed me again before he headed off to the bathroom to take a shower.

Reluctantly, I slid out of bed. I looked around for my clothes, but I didn't see them. I remembered that they had come off before making it into the bedroom last night. I went into the other room and picked them up. They were still slightly damp and they smelled like rainwater. Great. And my other stuff is still in my car, too.

I went back into the bedroom and I caught my reflection in the mirror. I had a severe case of bed head, made worse by the fact that my hair was still wet last night, making it all tangled up this morning. I hoped that Dan has some really good conditioner because that's the only way I'm going to get it untangled.

I started walking away, but I stopped again because something about my reflection caught my eye. I studied that reflection again. I noticed how thin I was. I never paid much attention or noticed before, but today, for some reason, I did.

I was curvy at one time, which was when the Twiggy look was popular. I didn't care at the time that I didn't have that waif-like figure all the other girls wanted badly. I had boobs and boobs were what got the boys' attention. That was back in high school when I got drunk and hadn't discovered drugs yet. But as I looked at myself again, I was pretty damn close to achieving the Twiggy look.

It's not like I don't eat. I knew of some girls in school who didn't eat much because they had to be skinny. I eat. I can eat whatever I want and for some reason, I don't pack on the pounds.

Dan came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. Maybe he could get my stuff for me? I asked him and he said he would do that for me. "I saved some hot water for you," he added.

"Thanks," I said. Then I headed off to the bathroom.

I turned on the water and stepped under the spray. I didn't notice any conditioner in the shower. "You got any conditioner?" I shouted.

"No," he shouted back.

Brushing my hair was going to hurt like hell.

I finished my shower and went back into the bedroom. I didn't see my stuff, so I improvised. I went into Dan's drawer and found a t-shirt and put that on. It just barely covered my backside, but it would do for now. I guess Dan forgot about getting my stuff out of my car.

I smelled food cooking, so I wandered into the main room. Dan was making eggs. "I hope you like scrambled," he said. I said they would be fine. Then he noticed that I was wearing his t-shirt.

"I hope you don't mind," I said. "My stuff is still out in my car."

He looked at me again. "No," he said. "I don't mind." I studied his expression. It was unreadable. Damn, he's got a good poker face. It's not like I put this shirt on to get a reaction from him. I didn't feel like walking around with nothing on, especially after seeing myself in the mirror.

I noticed that he was only wearing jeans at the moment and his hair was still wet. I wondered if he did that on purpose. Not that I was complaining or anything.

There was nowhere to sit in the kitchen. There wasn't even a card table. I know there is one in the closet, but it wasn't set out. So I did the next best thing. I jumped up and sat on the counter and watched Dan make eggs for the both of us.

After breakfast, Dan left for work. True to his word, he went to my car and got my stuff for me. I sorted through the dirty stuff to find the last clean outfit I owned, a pair of cut offs and another skimpy top. After seeing myself in the mirror this morning, I wasn't so sure about wearing that top. I kept Dan's t-shirt on. I also found an old pair of scuffed up Keds among my things and I put those on instead of the sandals.

I grabbed my brush and set out to untangle my hair. It took about an hour to get it looking like some semblance of normal. Like everyone else, I have long hair. It goes down to about the middle of my back. Unlike everyone else, it's not straight, nor is it very fine. I have very thick hair. People used to say to me, "I wish I had thick hair like you do." I used to tell them, "Be careful what you wish for." My hair is a pain in the ass sometimes. It's thick and there is some wave to it, enough wave to require me to have to iron it out when I was in high school. Later on, I never ironed it unless I had to. Now, I never do it.

For awhile, I putzed around the cabin, looking for something to do. I didn't find much, other than washing the dirty dishes from breakfast. I decided to do Dan a favor and wash the dishes for him.

Then I thought that I should probably wash my dirty clothes so I have something clean to wear. I had a laundry bag somewhere in my car, so I went to get that. When I went back into the house, I threw all of my dirty clothes into it and then I noticed that there was a pile of Dan's dirty clothes in a hamper near the bathroom. I decided to be nice and wash them for him, too.

I didn't want Mary to know that I met Dan and spent most of my time with him during the past week. Mary, being the chatty person she can be, would probably tell someone else and then it would be all over town that not only I was back, but I saw "the help". Then Dick would find out and then he'd give Dan all sorts of shit about it. I don't want Dan to get in trouble because of me.

So I jumped in my car, with that laundry bag riding shotgun, and headed up to the laundromat in Scottsbluff. It would go faster there, anyway, since I could use several washers and dryers at once.

It didn't go much faster. Saturday mornings are somewhat busy at the laundromat. I had to wait for a couple of washing machines to open up. Once the clothes were washing, I sat down in an orange vinyl chair with a can of soda, and thumbed through a copy of  _Good Housekeeping_ that was from 1969. There was an article in there telling you how to tell if your child was on the path to becoming a hippie. The article made me laugh because it was so full of stereotypes.

Stereotypes exist because enough people either look a certain way, talk a certain way, or behave a certain way, and these acts come to embody what being a certain way is supposed to be like to the rest of the world. My brother and everyone else think that I'm a hippie because I liked to get stoned, I stopped wearing my hair in a flip, I canned the heavy black eyeliner and the fake eyelashes, I don't wash and set my hair once a week, I don't listen to Top 40 very much, I use a lot of that "hippie" slang, practice free love, I "changed" my name to something bizarre, and I don't always dress properly. Nevermind the fact that I don't take LSD, I've never had the inclination to live on a commune, I stopped protesting the war because I saw a lot of hypocrisy in the people protesting, and I'm not a flake. And it doesn't seem to register with them that the hippie movement is dead and buried with the Sixties, either. The whole "peace and love" thing died at Altamont. To them, I'm still this hippie girl because I don't follow their norms due to the fact that I fit in a few of those stereotypes.

The rest of the magazine bored me to tears. The clothes finished washing after awhile, so I got up to put them into some dryers. After that, I sat back down again and stared at the wall.

When the clothes were finished, I took them out of the dryers and folded them. I could sort them out back at the cabin. As I folded shirts, pants, and other things, I thought about last night.

Last night, after we went back into the stuffy cabin, we stood between the couch and the television and kissed slowly. Everything was slow. There was no rush. There was no frenzy. There was no tearing off clothes in mad desperation to reach paydirt. There was no reaching out to another who was in misery at the moment. All the pain, the bad memories, the rotten luck, and the bitterness disappeared for awhile, replaced by something good and wonderful and joyful.

For the longest time last night, that's all we did. We just kissed each other. Then Dan stopped. He stopped, looked at me intensely, and said, "I want to see all of you." I started to remove my top, but he stopped me. "Let me," he said, and then he proceeded to undress me very, very slowly, leaving little kisses where my clothes used to be. When my wet clothes were pooled at my feet, he stepped back for a moment and looked at me in that intense way again. Then he said the words again, the words he said to me outside in the rain. He said the words that left me speechless before. He said I was beautiful.

Just like outside, I was speechless again. I didn't know what to say or if I should say anything at all. And just like outside, I didn't have to say anything because Dan started kissing me again.

Then I told him that I wanted to see all of him, too. So I did the same thing to him as he did to me. Dan was only wearing jeans. He took his boots off for me and I did the rest, and I did it just like he did. For one moment during all of this, I had this urge to get down on my knees and please him, but my conscience warned me not to.

Every groupie, or every notorious groupie has a specialty or some sort of schtick that makes them notorious. There's one who likes to make plaster molds of rock stars dicks. There are others whose specialty is the willingness to perform certain acts or do certain things. I knew of one who liked to be tied up. I knew of another one who was willing to have all sorts of objects inserted into her.

Blowjobs were my schtick. I was the one these guys would come to when they were in the mood for some good head. Not only did I swallow, I could deep throat, too. I was Arizona, the Blow Job Queen.

Something inside me said last night that now wasn't the time to demonstrate this particular skill to Dan. So I didn't. I stood up and I looked at him and then I told him that I thought he was a beautiful person, too.

Last night showed me what I had been missing out on for a long time. Last night was wonderful because I felt cherished and admired and wanted because of me, the real me, and not because of the person everyone else in the world saw me as. For a few moments, I think I actually felt loved by someone else.

 _You'd better not get too used to it,_ the Arizona voice warned me.  _You're leaving the day after tomorrow, remember?_

That's right. I told myself I'd only stay for a week. But now I found myself wanting to stay longer, maybe even for good. I don't want to leave Dan. I don't want to leave him at all. Not when he makes me feel the way I do.

 _She's right,_ the Michelle voice agreed.  _You can't stay here. If you do stay, and he finds out what you're really like and he hears all those stories the locals love to tell about you, do you honestly think he's going to stick around? Are_ you _going to stick around? You know what happens whenever the gossip gets to you or you have another fight with your brother. He_ is _coming back, you know._

 _Yeah,_ Arizona replied.  _You can't stand being out here in the sticks. The boredom will get to you pretty fast. And you can't get blow here, either. And then there's also the fact that once Mr. Wonderful finds out what you're really like, he's going to drop you like a hot potato._

 _You're going to have to tell him soon,_ the Michelle voice said.  _You can't stay in Nebraska, Michelle. You know that. You'd better tell him._

They were right. Both of them were right. I can't stay in Nebraska. The same thing that always happened before will happen again. People will talk and I'll slink out of town because, even though I try to pretend it doesn't bother me, the talk always bothers me. Or I'll get into a fight with Dick and storm out of town. And then when other people find out that Dan is involved with me, they'll start giving him all kinds of shit and I really don't want to put him through that. Dan's been through enough.

Maybe he  _is_  better off without me.

I know I have to tell him, but I don't want to go. What about me? What about how I feel? Do I want to give up being around someone who actually listens to me to go back to other people who say they give a shit, but don't? Do I want to leave someone who seems to appreciate me for who I am for others who only appreciate me when I give them what they want?

For the first time in I don't know how long, I feel really and truly alive. I felt truly alive that first night after the nightmare. I felt truly alive the other day down at the dock when we sat on the dock with our feet in the water and talked about the Beatles and James Bond and music and other inconsequential things. I felt truly alive last night. And this morning, too, when I woke up and realized that Dan was awake and I hadn't left.

I don't want to feel dead anymore. I don't. I want to feel alive like this for the rest of my life.

 _But you have to go,_ the Michelle voice said.  _You're only going to end up hurting Dan if you stay._

 _No,_ the Arizona voice said, repeating her mantra.  _He'll end up hurting you first. They all do. And what makes it worse is that you let yourself get too close. I warned you about this, you know._

 _You need to take care of your own problems,_ the Michelle voice told me.  _You can't live your life the way you've been living it, Michelle. You're not happy. You have to take care of that first._

I forgot about that part of it. I guess I should take care of my own shit first. But I don't know where to start or how to do it. And the thought scares me, too.

* * *

 

Later that evening, Dan and I were outside sitting in the usual spot with the usual bottle of booze we passed back and forth between us. My mind raced with all those thoughts about what I had to do. But I couldn't tell him. I tried, but the words refused to come out of my mouth.

I think Dan noticed that I was preoccupied with something because he asked me if I were all right. "I'm fine," I lied. He didn't ask any further.

 _I wonder if maybe Dan might want to come with me?_ I thought suddenly. However, my conscience quickly objected to that thought.

 _Do you really want to drag Dan Mangan into your way of life? Do you really want to throw him into that world you live in?_ It was the Michelle voice.  _And how do you think he's going to take it when you go off with some guitar player? Do you expect him to smile and be okay with you going off to sleep with someone else?_

Who said I was going back to that life? I can live in California and not be a part of the groupie scene. The only thing I'm certain about after the past few weeks, is that I don't want to do what I've been doing for the past few years.

 _You can't bring him with you,_ the Michelle voice said.  _You need to take care of your own mess before you bring someone else into it._

* * *

 

 

sunday, july 15, 1973

I left before Dan woke up again. I couldn't stay all night this time, even though I wanted to in the worst way. My conscience wouldn't let me stay. My conscience reminded me again that I was leaving tomorrow and that I had to tell him this.

The heat wave may have broken, but it was still in the 80's. At least the humidity was down.

I spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon down at the lake again listening to those three voices, Arizona, Little Shelly, and Michelle argue among themselves.

_You have to tell him, Michelle. You can't stay here. You never should have let yourself get that close to him in the first place._

_If you go, you'll end up hurting him, Michelle. You have to stay. You want to stay. You're in love with him. He's not like the others. He listens to you. You have to stay. This is what you've been looking for all along._

_Go. You don't need this town and you don't need him. He'll just end up hurting you in the end. Just like everyone else._

_But he's not like the others. And who is going to be with him when he has those nightmares?_

I couldn't bear the thought of Dan being alone when he woke up from one of those nightmares he has.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel the need to get wasted while my conscience argued with itself. I still don't know what to do. I want to stay. I don't want to leave. I want to stay here with Dan and see where all of this might end up. But I'm scared to do this. I'm scared of putting myself out on the line and getting hurt.

I think I ended up back here to look for some answers. I've ended up with more questions than answers. The only answer I found during the past week is that I don't like my life the way it is now and I have to do something about it.

A part of me thinks I've found that brass ring I've been looking for my entire life. But I won't know for sure if I go, now would I? But I can't stay here and live around my brother and put up with his shit. And I don't want to make things bad for Dan, either. Dickie will give him a lot of shit if he finds out Dan's involved with me. I don't want to put Dan through that.

I know. I could come back to visit. I have a reason to come back and visit now. Maybe I should take care of my shit first before I get involved in someone else's life.

I went back up to the cabin to find Dan, but he wasn't there. He told me that he had Sundays off. The truck was still there, so obviously he didn't go anywhere else. I started walking, walking past the barns and the stables and into the open space in search of him. I knew, no matter what, I had to go tomorrow and I had to tell him this. I could come back. I would come back.

I found him after about an hour's searching. He was somewhere in the middle of the spread, on the edge of a hill. He sat in the grass with his back to me, looking at the swells of grassland in front of him. When I saw him, I nearly ran up to him to tell him I wasn't leaving because I changed my mind.

_You have to tell him, Michelle. You can't stay here._

I walked up to him, slowly, making sure he could hear the swishing of the grass as I walked through it. I sat down next to him and summoned all of my courage to tell him what I had to tell him.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," I said, my voice breaking the silence. I didn't look at Dan when I said it. I couldn't bring myself to look at him when I said it. It was just too damn hard.

"Where you headed?" he asked, not looking at me, either.

"Denver," I said.  _Maybe. At the very least, you'll pass through Denver._  "I'm heading out on the road again."  _You don't know that, Michelle. You don't know where you're going._ "I drive to Denver and hop a plane to wherever I'm headed."

Dan didn't say anything for the longest time. I wasn't sure what to make of his silence. I wish he would say something. If he said that he didn't want me to go, I probably wouldn't go, even if it's against my better judgment.

"When are you coming back?" he asked me finally.

"Hard to say," I replied. "Could be months. Could be longer than that."  _Could be sooner, too._ I didn't say that part out loud.

Dan didn't say anything again. It was almost as if he were contemplating something. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the shoulders. Not in a violent way or a forceful way, but in a sort of gentle way. He seized my shoulders and he started kissing me. Then he bore me backwards to the ground and he tried, without words, to persuade me to stay. It almost worked.

Afterward, I couldn't stay. I couldn't stay and I couldn't look at him, knowing that I was leaving even though I really didn't want to leave and knowing that Dan didn't want me to leave. It hurt too much.

 

* * *

 

monday, july 16, 1973

I spent my last night at the ranch in the main house, much to Mary's delight. I couldn't bring myself to go to that cabin. I thought about going there last night, to spend one last night with Dan, but I found that I couldn't do that to him. That would be cruel. And I don't think I could have endured the pain knowing that I was leaving.

I didn't sleep well, so at four, I woke up, showered, and got dressed. Then I headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. Mary woke up and came down to the kitchen in her bathrobe to say goodbye to me.

"Where are you going?" she asked me.

"I don't know," I replied.

"Where ever you end up, give me a call," she said. "Just so I know you got there safely." Then she added, "I worry about you, Michelle."

I said nothing at first. Instead I looked nervously at the clock. It was going on five in the morning. "I should get going," I told her.

"Take care of yourself, Michelle," Mary said. "And come back soon."

I didn't say what I wanted to say. Instead I said, "See you around, Mary." With that, I walked out the back door.

I got in the car and I drove it over to the cabin. I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Dan. When I went to the door, I knocked. There was no answer at first. I kept knocking. Eventually, the door opened and Dan stood there in the doorway wearing only jeans. I think I woke him up. He motioned for me to come inside the cabin.

"I came to say goodbye," I said nervously. I started shifting around from one foot to another in my nervousness. Dan said nothing. His silence made me even more nervous.

"I could call you if you want," I blurted out. I could call him and still talk to him because that's better than not seeing him. Yeah. I think I'll do that.

"Okay. If you want to," he replied.

"I could write, too," I added nervously. That's better than no contact at all.

"You don't have to," Dan replied.

"No, I want to," I replied quickly.

There was another period of awkward silence that was broken when Dan asked me if my car was up to making the trip to Denver. I told him it was.

The silence returned. There were so many things I wanted to tell Dan right now. Things like I didn't want to go and I changed my mind and even though love is for suckers, I think I'm in love with you so I'd better stay and find out.

_You can't stay, Michelle. You know that. If you stay, you'll hurt him._

_No, if you stay, he'll hurt you._

_If you leave, you'll hurt him._

_If I leave, I'll be hurting._

"No strings," I blurted out.

"Huh?"

"No strings," I repeated.  _Don't do this, Michelle._ "I'll come back, but I can't promise you anything," I added. This could work. This might work. I have no business making a commitment to him, much less anyone right now. If I'm not attached, maybe I can get my act together and figure things out and come back now and then and see where this whole thing is headed. This could work.

I went on. "I can't promise you that I'll stay forever and settle down or anything like that, but I'll come back and see you." I looked down at the floor. This could work. Right?

"No strings," Dan repeated. "Why not?"

I shrugged. "It's just better this way. Nobody expects anything. Nobody gets hurt." I chewed on my lower lip nervously. "I have to get going. It's a long way to Denver," I said. I went over to Dan and I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. I kissed him on the cheek. I was going to just kiss him on the cheek and then I was going to go. That was the plan. Make this as quick and painless as possible. "Goodbye, Dan," I whispered to him.

My plans were for naught. Dan pulled me closer to him and he kissed me on the mouth. "Goodbye, Michelle," he said softly. Then he pulled me closer to him and he held me. I nearly changed my mind again.

I broke the embrace and I went outside to my car. Dan followed me. I wished he hadn't done that. I got settled into my car and I rolled down the window. I wasn't going to allow myself the luxury of having one last look at him. I did anyway. Before I put the car in gear, I waved at him. He waved back.

 _It's better this way, my_  conscience told me.  _If you don't get too close, you can't hurt him._

It was already too late for that. I was already "too close" and if this was hurting Dan, it was hurting me as well. I felt tears in my eyes and I did nothing to stop them.

I stepped on the gas and the car moved forward. As I drove ahead, I caught the song on the radio.

 

Baby, I’d love you to want me  
The way that I want you  
The way that it should be.

Baby, you’d love me to want you  
The way that I want to  
If you’d only let it be.

When I pulled out of the driveway and was on the road, I pulled over to the shoulder and I cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs quoted in this chapter:  
> Cinnamon Girl by Neil Young  
> Get Together by the Youngbloods  
> This Guy's In Love With You by Herb Alpert  
> I'd Love You To Want Me by Lobo


	3. Chapter 3

I never made it to Denver last July.

I mean, I made it to Denver, but when the exit to Stapleton came up, I didn't take it. Instead, I ended up staying on the highway, heading south and west. I kept going west until I pulled into my driveway.

I live in a little house on the beach outside LA, paid for by Barry. I arrived home and the first thing I did was head out to the beach. I walked. I kept walking as the sun set over the Pacific. I walked and I did some thinking. I went home and did some thinking.  Then I did more thinking.  Two weeks later, I ended up in Briarton.

Briarton is this sort of boot camp for people with addictions. You go there to sober up and to get straight. I wanted to clean up my act. I knew I had to clean up my act. I had to stop drinking and I had to stop taking drugs all the time. If I am ever going to go back to Nebraska, I am going to do it sober.

The first week in rehab was pure hell. I went through withdrawals. I wanted to die. I wanted to physically hurt people. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to punch holes in the walls. They gave me pills that were supposed to help with the withdrawals, but it didn't help that much. One morning, I woke up and I felt this sense of calm that I hadn't felt before.

After that, I had to do other things. They make you clean. I don't clean my own house. Barry hired someone else to do that. I had to scrub toilets. I went from being this hot shit groupie to scrubbing toilets in a drug rehabilitation facility. I decided that if scrubbing toilets was the price to pay to get straight, I'd pay it.

I also was required to see a therapist, alone and in a group. I had to talk about things that I never talked about before. When you're in the room with the group, you have to talk about why you started drinking and getting high in the first place and you have to talk about your feelings and stuff like that. I had to talk about that with the therapist, too, but I told her more when it was the two of us than when I was in the group. It was easier to talk to her.

I told her everything. I told her everything about my life, about my past, and I even told her about Dan. It felt good to talk to someone, even if that person was getting paid to listen to me.

The therapist said something to me when I told her about Dan. She said that I can't depend on other things or other people to provide my happiness for me. She said I had to provide my own happiness. Depending on other things to make me happy is why I ended up in Briarton in the first place.

When the twenty-eight days were up, I walked out of that place and I felt good. I felt better, like I could see things clearer. I felt stronger, too. I felt stronger because I kicked drugs and booze and I was going to live this different life and not be Arizona anymore.

The first thing I had to figure out was what I was going to do with my life. The therapist said that I should cut all ties with Barry, Max, Sharon, and everyone else because they were still caught up in that unhealthy cycle and if I continued to be around them, I stood a very good chance of getting sucked back into all of that.

I decided to start looking for a job. A real job. I'd get a real job and then I'd save up my money and get my own place to live and start living my own life. The only problem was, I hadn't had a real job in a couple of years. I'd go on interviews and the interviewer would want to know why I hadn't worked for a couple years. I couldn't tell him that I spent all that time chasing after rock stars and partying.

Barry kept calling the house and asking me when I was coming back. I kept telling him that I wasn't and that things had changed. He didn't believe me. The band came back to LA in September, so I decided to tell Barry and the others in person. That was a big mistake.

I got sucked back in. I fell off the wagon and I started partying again. I didn't realize that all the work I did in rehab just went down the toilet until two things happened. The first one was when I ended up with some guy and I found myself trying to pretend he was Dan. It didn't work. The second thing happened when I called Dan while under the influence. Afterward, when I realized what I did, I felt so ashamed of myself. I was trying so hard to stay away from this and not do this anymore, and yet, I did it. I didn't get high, though. I got drunk. I didn't touch a joint, nor did I snort cocaine once after rehab. I just got drunk.

I went back to rehab again in October.

I've been out for a couple of weeks now. I feel less invincible than I did when I got out the first time. I know what I did wrong and now I think I have the will to not touch the stuff. That's the hardest part of all of this. Sometimes I still want to get drunk in the worst way when I'm stressed out over things. I remind myself of what happened in September and the urge goes away.

I went to New York, though. I used Barry to get the plane ticket. In true dramatic fashion, I had something to tell him and something to give him. I found him backstage with the rest of the band.

"I knew you'd be back," he smirked. "You can't stay away, Arizona."

"I came to give you this," I replied, ignoring the smirk. I grabbed Barry's hand and placed a set of keys in it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"The keys to the house," I replied. "I'm going home. And don't worry," I added. "I already cancelled the phone and the utilities so you don't have to do that."

"You're going back to Nebraska?" he asked, incredulous.

"I can't stay here," I replied. "I can't Barry. I don't belong here anymore. It's time to move on and live my life."

Barry ushered me into a corner. "What about your brother, Ari--Michelle?"

"I'll handle him," I said. "Don't worry about it."

Barry frowned. "Like you did all those other times? There's someone else, isn't there? You did meet some guy last summer, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?" I replied defensively.

"You want to go back and be with him and settle down, don't you?" Barry asked. "What's with all of this change? I don't understand it. You're turning into 'one of them'."

"Strings aren't such a bad thing, Barry," I replied.

Barry said nothing right away. "Are you sure you want to go back and put up with your asshole brother?"

"Like I said, I'll deal with it."

"I hope this guy you met is worth it, Michelle," he said. Then he paused for a bit. "Listen," Barry said. "Why don't I pick up the tab for you to stay in Denver for a bit? It's close to where you're from and you can think about this some more. The holidays are coming up and I know how you get this time of year."

"I don't need you--" I began, but Barry interrupted me.

"I think you're making a big mistake, Michelle, but if you're bound and determined to do this, at least think about it for a bit before you go charging back to Nebraska. I do care about you, you know."

"Your concern is so touching," I replied, sarcastically.

"Believe what you want, Michelle. I do care."

I took the offer of the room. Barry did have a point. The holidays were coming up and I despise the holidays. Barry said he'd call and reserve one for me and it would be ready by the time I got back to LA, packed all my things, and drove east.

Barry said I could stay in his hotel room for the night. The next day, I was going to fly back to LA, load up my car, and drive east. I poked around backstage for a bit. I didn't drink anything or take anything and I was proud of myself for not doing that.

But I saw things. I saw things for what they were. I saw this black haired girl not much younger than me. She was a "rich kid". She somehow used her connections to pilfer a backstage pass to meet the band. Rich girl had a name. She walked backstage, loudly proclaimed that her name was Diana Lynch and that she was from Westchester. First, she tried to get into Max's pants, but he was busy with some blonde girl by the name of Jennifer. Then Miss Lynch gravitated towards Dave, the singer.

I watched what went on around me and I came to the true realization of how meaningless and how empty that sort of life is. I spent four years of my life living this way and it took me trying to kill myself and meeting someone else who was as messed up as I was before I could see how empty it was. The entire time I was living this empty, meaningless life, I thought I was such hot stuff. I thought I was Somebody Important. The entire time I was still a nobody.

I watched the interactions between Diana Lynch and Dave. She reminded me so much of myself, what I was, and what I did. I saw the admiring look she gave Dave and I saw that Dave only seemed interested in her assets and not in what she was saying to him. Then they disappeared. Put me in there in place of her and change Dave to someone else, and that was exactly what I did. I felt this sense of shame wash over me.

I used to do these things and I put myself into situations that were not me. I degraded myself for the sake of wanting to be Somebody Important. I always did what they wanted. If I had reservations about it, I'd drink or get high to get rid of my qualms. I only wanted to make them happy and I reasoned if I made them happy, then perhaps one of them would sweep me off my feet and take me away from all of this. It never happened.

I felt so ashamed at the moment, my conscience spoke up again.  _You're better off not being with Dan. You're not good enough for him, Michelle. You're still going to end up hurting him in some way._

I went back to the hotel to catch some sleep. The flight back to LA was early in the morning. When I got to Barry's room, the "Do Not Disturb" sign was out. I knew what that meant. I sat on the floor, next to the door, waiting until the guy Barry was with left. I waited until close to six in the morning. I think I dozed off for a bit, too. The door opened suddenly, and some guy I didn't know walked out. He gave me a strange look before he smirked and said, "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but Barry's not interested in you."

"Fuck off," I replied. The man walked away.

I was stiff and I was sore from sitting in the hallway for so long. Getting up was a challenge. I felt so bad and ashamed and guilty after seeing clearly for the first time the kind of life I led and the kind of person I was. I wanted a drink in the worst way.

I went into the room and I paused in front of the bar.  _Don't do it, Michelle._

I didn't. Instead, I called Dan. It was six in the morning here in New York. I knew I was going to wake him up, but I needed to hear his voice again. I sat on the edge of Barry's bed and, while he slept, I made the call.

* * *

 

Dan's coming to Denver to see me. He's supposed to get here tomorrow. Dick gave him the entire week of Thanksgiving off. I have a room at the Holiday Inn Airport that Barry's paying for. Unfortunately, it has a bar in it. I can't get the room changed until Monday, and with Dan being here, it's just going to be a hassle, so I have to wait a week.

I agreed to see Dan, even though my conscience told me I shouldn't see him anymore. I wanted to see him again. I needed to see him again in the worst way. I feel certain about very little in my life at the moment, but when I was around Dan, I felt good. No, I felt better.

Instead of sitting in that room and having all those bottles of liquor tempting me, I decided to take a drive. I ended up in a neighborhood near the university, where the Victorian houses are all lined up in a row. My Aunt Margaret lives in this neighborhood. She is the same aunt who I got even with because I hated her for not taking me in when my parents died.

This is what happened. My grandmother, my mother's mother, passed away two years ago. I remember that it was around nine in the morning when Mary called me to tell me that this happened. I wasn't going to go back to Nebraska, but guilt made me do it. I hadn't seen my grandmother since high school.

My aunt Margaret and her friend Sal came to Harrisburg to pay their respects to the family. They went to the funeral home for the wake.

And then I showed up.

I waltzed into the funeral home drunk off my ass, having downed some liquid courage in order to face the family. I was drunk and I wore something rather skimpy and not appropriate for a funeral home. And then I saw my aunt and her friend. Then I became angry.

I was never a mean drunk. I was either depressed or I was "Happy Fun Time" drunk. When I saw my aunt sitting there with her friend, I was livid. The resentment came back in waves and it consumed me. And I became a mean drunk for that one day.

The family peppered me with questions like "How've you been, Michelle?", "Where'd you get that outfit, Michelle?", "Are you seeing anyone, Michelle," and my personal favorite, asked by my brother, "Where do you get the nerve to show your face here, Shelly?" As they asked these questions, I snapped at them, I sneered at them, and I didn't care what they thought of me.

In hindsight, and with a clearer head, Aunt Margaret was only asking me normal questions one would ask a family member when they haven't seen this person for quite some time. However, given my drunken state and all the anger that simmered below the surface, I took it very personally. Her asking me questions was an affront and inconvenience and I let my aunt know that.

My aunt Margaret is a lesbian. Nobody is supposed to know this for the same reason that nobody is supposed to know that Barry is gay. If you're that way, you don't say a word because then you will be ruined. Sal is my aunt's girlfriend. When I was a kid, I thought Sal was just someone who was a tomboy when she was a kid and never grew out of it. I was too young to realize at the time that she was really butch.

I only found out my aunt's sexual preferences by accident. The summer I graduated from high school, Dickie sent me to stay with her. Of course, I went out at night and stayed out and snuck in at four in the morning. At the time, I was involved with Stuart, the guitar player for this local band.  Stuart was nine years older than me and only too happy to show me that as far as sex was concerned, I really didn't know what I was doing. One night, I was sneaking in the house in the wee hours of the morning. I went up stairs and I paused, scared shitless because my aunt's bedroom door was open. Normally the door is closed at night. The room I stayed in was at the end of the hallway. I hoped that Aunt Margaret was sleeping.

Then I heard the noises. I heard noises coming out of that room that were the same kind of noises I was making with Stuart back at his place. I thought it was strange that if my aunt had a boyfriend, I hadn't met the guy yet.

I hoped that she was occupied enough so I could sneak past the open door. I walked as quietly as I could. Then something occurred to me. I didn't hear any male sounding voice at all. It was when I reached the doorway that I made the mistake of turning my head and seeing my aunt and her friend doing pretty much the same thing I had been doing with Stuart only an hour before.

At the time, I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't want to believe it. I knew what that was called, thanks to the stash of pulp novels I had at home. I felt really dirty for having seen that, but yet, I was sort of titillated at the same time.

I never said a word about this to anyone else. I felt angrier though because it seemed to me that my aunt thought Sal was more important to her than I was. And as the years passed and I thought about my aunt and I thought about the things that happened to me as I grew up, the resentment just kept getting bigger and bigger. By the time my grandmother's funeral rolled around, I hated the woman's guts because her girlfriend was more important to her than her niece. She wouldn't take me in because she'd rather have this thing with this woman and because of that, I had to suffer through what I did.

Aunt Margaret made a remark about my relationships with men. That was a mistake.

"What would you know about men?" I replied sarcastically. "You'd rather eat pussy than suck dick." I gave her a look that said, "I dare you to deny this."

"What did you just say?" my aunt replied in a strangled voice. The rest of the family was very, very quiet. Mary's face was pure white.

"You heard me," I smirked. "You know damn well what I'm talking about,  _Aunt_ Margaret. You're a dyke. You and Sal over there."

At the time, the horrified, just-got-slapped look on my aunt's face meant little to me. I sat in the comfy funeral home chair, sprawled out, and wearing a satisfied smirk. I got my pound of flesh. Nobody said a word, until Mary recovered enough to pull me aside to give me a tongue lashing about my behavior. I had never seen her so angry, not even during that one time I went to Midnight Mass stoned and wearing a crocheted mini dress and I flirted with the married man sitting next to me while his wife gave me nasty looks. At the time Mary was verbally upbraiding me for my bad behavior and showing no respect for the memory of my grandmother, I thought the whole thing was pretty damn funny.

I no longer think it's funny. I don't think it's funny at all. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from even opening my mouth that day. I know why I did it. Drugs and booze lower your inhibitions to the point where you do things you wouldn't normally do. Drugs and booze make it easier to say those things, to give voice to those feelings that you keep inside when you're sober. Drugs and booze were firmly in control of my life at the time. It's still no excuse for what I did.

During both my stints in rehab, they were really big on The Twelve Steps. You were supposed to follow them in whatever order you felt was best for you. You had to admit that you were powerless over the drugs and the alcohol and that your life had become unmanageable. You had to believe that a power greater than yourself could restore your sanity. You also had to turn your life and your will over to God as you understood Him. I remember in rehab, this one man raised his hand and said he didn't believe in God. The therapist said he could take anyone he wanted as his higher power. He took Spiro Agnew as his higher power.

I was relieved to hear that. I'm not sure how I feel about God. I'm not sure if I even believe in God these days. I was raised Catholic, but I'm a horrible Catholic. If I ever decided to go to Confession again, the priest would be there for days listening to all of my sins. Ever since living with the Housekeeper from Hell, my faith has been destroyed and I'm not sure what to believe. I decided to turn my life and my will over to Jimmy Page. I have to laugh at the irony of it though. I have to. Here I am, trying to change my life, to not be putting my feelings and emotions and my happiness in the hands of a rock and roll musician, and I've decided to turn my life and will over to a rock star. But it's worked so far. Jimmy Page hasn't called Nebraska to nag at my brother to give me his approval.

The Ninth Step said that you were supposed to make amends to those who have been hurt by your drinking, unless making amends would be even more hurtful to them. I was going to apologize to my aunt Margaret and to Sal for what I did at my grandmother's funeral. That is, if they were even willing to listen. That was the scary part. I was scared to go up to the door, to try and say what I had to say, and have them slam the door in my face. I ended up driving around the block a few times.

_You're going to have to do it sometime._

My conscience was right. I had to do this. I pulled into my aunt's driveway, and my stomach was tied up in knots. I was wishing for a drink so badly at the moment.

Somehow, I managed to get out of my car and go to her front door. I rang the bell. There was nothing for a few minutes. I was tempted to turn around and chalk it up to nobody being home. But I was rooted in my spot. I rang the doorbell again.

This time, there was an answer.

"Michelle?" my aunt Margaret said, obviously surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I have to talk to you," I said quietly. "If that's okay."

Aunt Margaret studied me closely. There was a mixture of emotions, of expressions that crossed her face, and I wasn't sure what all that meant. I grew very nervous.

"Come in," she said finally and I sighed with relief. She ushered me into her living room and told me to have a seat.

"Can I get you something, Michelle?" she asked. "Coffee, water, a glass of wine?"

"No," I said, probably more forcefully than I should have. It was the mention of the wine that did it. Aunt Margaret looked at me curiously. "I mean, no thanks," I said.

"Very well, then," she said. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

I took a deep breath, summoning all the courage I could summon. I might as well cut the bullshit and get to the point. "I just wanted to say that I'm…" I hesitated here. "I'm sorry for what I did to you at Grandma's wake." That's all I said. I didn't want to say that it was due to the fact I was a raging alcoholic, because it seemed to me that if I started making excuses for it, it would cheapen the apology.

Aunt Margaret didn't say anything and I grew worried about that. I didn't know what was going through her head at the moment. Nervously, I waited for her to say something.

Finally, she spoke. "I don't know how you found out about my relationship with Sal or that I prefer women to men," she said. "But it was very hurtful and it wasn't something I wanted the world to know about, either."

"I know," I said. I thought about Barry and the time I spent pretending to be his girlfriend so people wouldn't find out that he liked men over women. "And I'm sorry."

"You already said you were sorry, Michelle," Aunt Margaret replied. "And I believe that you really are sorry, too." She leaned forward in her chair. "But why?" she asked. "Why did you do it?"

"Because I hated you and I wanted to get even with you," I said. "Because I was drunk and stupid and not thinking, either."

"It was obvious to me that you were drunk at the time," she said. "But why did you hate me? Why did you feel you had to 'get even' with me?"

"Because you didn't take me in when my parents died," I whispered, on the verge of tears. "I believed that if you had, my life would have been radically different than what it turned out to be. When you didn't take me with you, I thought you didn't like me or that I did something wrong."

"Michelle," Aunt Margaret replied. "No, it wasn't like that. I never hated you and you did nothing wrong. It was me."

"You?" I asked.

"If I had taken you in," she said. "If I had, and then someone found out about me and Sal, you would have been taken away from me and put in a foster home, Michelle. People like me aren't supposed to raise children. I'm a freak, a deviant, a sinner who is going to rot in hell because I can't help who I am."

"I would have risked it," I said with determination.

"Would you? Would you have been willing to risk being pulled away from a family member for a second time?"

"Yes," I said. "I would have." I cleared my throat. "There is something that you don't know, either."

"What is that?" Aunt Margaret asked.

"My brother hated me," I said. "He let it be known that I was an inconvenience to him and his life and that he didn't want the responsibility of taking care of me. He called me names constantly. And then he hired that Brunner woman."

"What about 'that Brunner woman'?" Aunt Margaret asked.

I looked up at the ceiling and I willed the tears that were threatening to fall to not fall. It didn't work. "The first day she was there, she told me that God took my mom and dad away because I was a wicked little girl."

"Oh, Michelle," my aunt started, but I cut her off.

"She said I was wicked. She used to lock me in my bedroom and she wouldn't let me out to use the bathroom. She'd take my clothes away and then I had to go to school in the same dirty dress every day. She called me names and she hit me and said that I was wicked because God watched what I did and He thought I was a wicked little girl. But I didn't do anything. I swear I didn't."

"Oh dear God," my aunt said.

Then I told her about the incident when I got my first period. I told my aunt everything, everything I did and everything that happened to me from then until just before my suicide attempt.

"Oh, Michelle," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I had no idea."

"I know," I said. "But see, that's why I would have taken a chance and lived with you. And that's why I thought I hated you for not taking me in."

There was a silence for a bit. It was broken when Aunt Margaret came over to me and took me to her and hugged me. "I'm so sorry, Michelle," she said. "If I only had known…"

"You didn't know," I said. I remembered something the shrink said to me. "It's over and done with. You can't beat yourself up over it; otherwise you're going to end up a mess like I was."

"Like you were?"

"I was really messed up for a long time. I even tried to kill myself once," I said. "Obviously, it didn't work."

"I'm glad it didn't," Aunt Margaret said.

"So am I," I said. "It was a wake up call. I ended up in rehab. Twice."

"So you don't…"

I shook my head. "I'm trying to quit. I haven't had a drink in two and a half weeks. I haven't taken drugs in almost two months."

"Good for you," my aunt smiled. "I'm proud of you, Michelle."

I looked down at the floor. I didn't know what to say. Aunt Margaret reached over and tilted my face up so I had to look at her. "You should smile when someone gives you a compliment," she said.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't get many of those. Real ones, anyway."

"Well, I'm not a bullshitter," she said. "I mean what I say. And I'm very proud of you, too. I know your mom and dad would be very proud of you right now, too."

"You think so?" I asked. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.

"I know so," she said. "Now," she went on, "I don't know about you, but I could go for some coffee. Do you want some?"

"Sure," I said.

While Aunt Margaret went to make coffee, I looked around her living room at all the antiques. I was so relieved that this went better than I hoped. I still had to apologize to Sal for this matter and to Mary for the shitty way I treated her over the years. She was only trying to help and I treated her like crap.

Aunt Margaret returned with two cups of coffee. "You take yours black, right?" I nodded.

"See, I remembered," she smiled.

We sipped coffee in silence until she broke it. "I have to ask, Michelle," she said. "How did you find out about me and…" She let the sentence trail off.

"Well," I said, kind of embarrassed. "You, um, didn't close your door and I was sneaking back into the house at four in the morning, and I sort of heard things and I kind of saw it, too."

"Oh," Aunt Margaret replied, her cheeks turning pink.

"Well," I continued. "I knew why Sal was always staring at me after that." At eighteen, I had a thing for short skirts and I wore them often. I wasn't much, and I'm still not for dressing up, but I loved miniskirts because wearing them made the boys look twice at you.

"Yeah," my aunt said awkwardly. "I had a talk with her about that. I didn't like her doing that."

"Where is she, anyway?" I wondered. I was going to have to apologize to her.

"We broke up," Aunt Margaret said. "She traded me in for a newer model."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," she said. "I'm not sorry. You know," she went on. "Sal has a thing for younger women."

We talked a little more and I stayed for supper. Aunt Margaret asked me what I was doing in Denver.

"Staying here until I figure out what I want to do with my life," I replied. I wasn't going to tell my aunt about Dan. Not yet. The voice of my conscience kept telling me that I wasn't good enough for Dan and I'd still end up hurting him if I got involved with him.

"You're more than welcome to stay here, Michelle," she said.

I declined the offer. I said I'd come visit more often, though. I just need my space right now. I've never lived truly on my own before. I think I need to be on my own for a bit, at least until I know what I want to do with my life.

* * *

 

I spent most of Sunday waiting for Dan to show up. I sat on the bed, in front of the television, and I eyed the bar. At one point, I left and I went to this little diner down the street for something to eat. Then I went back to the room and I sat in front of the TV and eyed the bar again, my nervousness growing as each minute passed.

The voice that is my conscience kept telling me that I had to end this with Dan. End what? I spent a week with him, I think I might be in love with him, and that's it. But that voice kept saying I couldn't get involved with him because he deserved better than what I had to give and I was only going to hurt him in the end.

This morning, before I got dressed, I happened to look in the mirror. The mirror in this room is huge and I was able to see a lot of myself in it. I stood in front of it and I studied my reflection. I noticed that I had a figure again. I had the boobs and the hips and the curves I used to have before I started snorting cocaine. It was the drugs that made me thinner.

It was around five or so when I heard a knock on the door. The sound made me jump. I was  _that_  nervous about this. I got off the bed and I went to the door.

_You can't see him anymore. It's better this way. You're not good enough for him._

I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, banishing that voice, and I opened the door. When I saw him for the first time in four months, all those feelings from last July came rushing back to me and I realized exactly how much I missed him. It was more than I ever realized.

I knew I wasn't going to go through with what my conscience wanted me to do. Deep down, I just knew it. I took one look at Dan Mangan and his dark eyes and I felt myself falling again. I wanted to throw myself at him.

I didn't, though. Instead, I said, "Hey. How've you been?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Briarton is a fictitious drug rehabitation facility.  
> KSBF, as far as I'm aware, is a fictitious radio station. If there is a real KSBF, any similarities are coincidental.


End file.
